Finding Old Friends
by Crazy4DA
Summary: Nearly a decade after the fall of the Archdemon the Warden Commander travels to Antiva to visit an old friend, contracting the Crows to hunt down Alistair. She means to see him answer for walking away from his responsibilities when they needed him most.
1. Finding the way

_Bioware's universe just exploring the other planets._

* * *

Moira checked her reflection in the mirror. She smoothed her auburn hair and made the finishing touches on the braid wound around her head. She took a critical look at her face and frowned at the scars on her cheek and neck.

_Nothing to be done for those._ She thought before turning and reaching for her weapons.

Her leather armor creaked as she belted her short swords across her back, running a hand over the numerous places she had small daggers hidden. It was an old routine made difficult by the close quarters of her cabin on the Cloud Dancer. Bending to unwrap a sealed package that revealed a thick winter cloak she shook it out and smiled when she saw the griffons embroidered along its edges. The white and silver griffons almost looked as though they moved on the grey cloth when it was in motion. Combined with the color of the wolf pelts that lined the inside it was a striking piece of work, worth every sovereign she had paid for it.

She grinned to herself as she donned the cloak thinking of the impression she was about to make on the city of Antiva. _Maybe not the city, just one person in the city. _She clasped the cloak closed with a broach that was a special gift from a long-time friend of hers before picking up her pack and heading up to the deck.

She spotted the Captain supervising the crew as they unloaded their cargo. The air was sharp and cold in the early morning light and she could see steam rising from the men straining on the ropes as they maneuvered crates from the hold. She strode over, small puffs of steam leaving her lips in the chill of the morning air. One of the crew saw her and said something to the man issuing orders. Captain Galin turned and watched her approach, small and lithe as she was, he knew her appearance was something of a deception. The way she looked now hid from the casual glance just what she was.

He though back momentarily, mind running over the events at the beginning of his association with the Warden. He'd picked up this assignment when he'd been docked in Amaranthine unloading goods from the Free Marches. A young elf had approached him with a message.

"Ser?" the elf started, "I have a message for you." The boy held out his message.

"Who's it from?" Galin had asked of the boy.

"I was only told to give this to you Ser. Please take it, I have others to deliver." Galin had taken it, looked at the seal and handed the boy a silver.

Three hours later he was waiting in a pub called The Misty Lady where visitors and travelers often stayed on their way through Amaranthine. He took the note out again and reread it, wondering if he'd made a mistake.

_Why would the Warden Commander want to see me? _He wondered if the note were a joke from one of the other captains but the dual griffons on the note's seal said otherwise. He ran a calloused hand over his weathered face and itched his beard.

He'd finished half his tankard of ale when he heard the chair next to him scrap on the floor. "Captain Galin I presume." He startled momentarily, having not really heard her approach.

Moira had been paying the harbormaster for months to keep her apprised of any ships heading to Antiva on an indirect route. She'd gotten the missive two days ago letting her know about the route of the Cloud Dancer and her captain. The harbormaster had also included a description of the burly old captain.

_An accurate one at that._ She had thought upon entering the pub and spotting Galin.

He turned to find an attractive elven woman sitting next to him. The Warden Commander was not what he was expecting. He had heard rumors of her and from the description was expecting a woman ten feet tall with dragon's scale for skin. He regarded her a moment. Fair skin with delicate features like many of her kind. Red brown hair bound closely to the nape of her neck. Her aqua eyes rested below thin light red eyebrows. In them was a look he knew well. He looked into her eyes and shivered slightly. He'd seen many soldiers in his travels with that same look, hard, cold and detached. It was the look you saw in someone who'd seen a lot of war and death. Maker knew there had been a lot of that in Ferelden. The only other thing that marred her beauty were the scars on her jaw, neck, and when he looked lower, upper chest. He squirmed uncomfortably in his chair when he realized what those scars were. It was her all right, he didn't know of anyone else who had been mauled by a dragon and lived.

"That I am Ladyship. How may I be of service?" He had asked her. He'd set his tankard aside and tried to not look nervous.

She had leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and taking a drink from her cup. "I wish to book passage on your vessel Captain."

"Your Ladyship can't be serious. I'm a merchant vessel. I don't think her Ladyship would find the accommodations comfortable. I also have a full hold and will be making many stops, surely you wish to travel directly to your destination." He wasn't sure why she'd be asking for passage on his ship. She wasn't just Warden Commander; she was the Hero of Ferelden and, until recently Arlessa of Amaranthine. Surely, she could find passage on a more important and more luxurious ship.

"You'd be surprised at what I find comfortable Captain." She'd stated, "I want to go to Antiva. The stops are unimportant."

He'd looked surprised at that. His mind started working. It would be good to gain favor with the Grey Wardens. Their numbers had grown considerably in the nearly ten years since the defeat of the Archdemon and they were known to have the crown's favor and, more importantly, coin. This could be a perfect opportunity to open up his trade even more. Galin stroked his beard thoughtfully as he realized the opportunity trading directly with the Wardens could be.

"Warden business then?" He asked.

"Yes and no." She answered. She took another drink and waited.

Galin decided on how much to charge and if he wanted to pry further into her business. "Ten sovereigns, a cabin to yourself and a deal that you'll look to contract with me for supplies, imports and basic transportation."

She looked surprised for a moment before offering a retort. "Six sovereigns, my own cabin and we'll consider this trip a trial as to how efficient your operation is." She had not expected that he'd try to solicit her business.

_We'll see_, _we'll see if he can deal in discretion as well._ She often sent Wardens with correspondence and on business to the north and west. She also traded for certain materials out of the Free Marches, Antiva, Seheron, and other places. If his prices were right and his operation sound, she'd consider it.

Galin raised his eyebrows, not really surprised that she'd haggle with him. "Done," He said, "I run a tight ship, as you'll see." He held out his hand to seal the agreement.

She took it, "One thing though, I don't want to be addressed as 'Ladyship' or 'Warden Commander'. Just 'Warden' will do." She had smiled at him then and he had noticed how fine lines had appeared around her eyes. It made him think that she didn't smile nearly often enough.

"Whatever you wish Warden. I'll keep the crew busy as to not bother you." He replied.

_Ah, a secret mission it is then. She will see that we can handle those too._

She had stood, "Good. Tomorrow then." And left.

Galin had sat for a time contemplating and finishing his ale before heading back to the docks.

And now, after several weeks at sea they sat in the port city of Antiva.

"Warden." He nodded to the dock. "Ready to depart?" He looked her over once before frowning. Her armor was top quality, what he could see of the hilts of her swords also spoke of wealth. And that cloak looked to be worth a small fortune.

"If I may be so bold Warden, you may wish to reconsider that cloak, lots of pickpockets and thieves in the city. A lone target is a tempting one."

Antiva city was considered the wealthiest city in all of Thedas and the only one without an army to protect her. It was the center of trade for most, if not all of Thedas and it was home to the Antivan Crows, an elite organization of thieves and assassins so feared their reputation alone protected the city. They were well known to be the driving political influence throughout Antiva and not to be taken lightly by anyone looking to do more than simply pass through their territory.

Galin had some reservations that even a Grey Warden would be a match alone against a Crow on the streets of Antiva city.

"I thank you for your concern Captain but I think I can handle myself." Moira scanned the docks briefly, taking in the men working but she didn't see anyone who stood out. She turned her full attention on Galin. "Where can I find a place named 'Roihden's Gold'?"

Galin sputtered a moment. "Are you sure that's the name of the place you're looking for?"

"Yes," she looked at him quizzically, "Is there something wrong?"

"Ah, no" he paused, "it's just that Roihden's Gold is a brothel, top notch too. I mean, many wealthy clients will stay there sometimes but, um, it's not an inn." He looked flustered when she broke into a laugh.

"Well that sounds about right Captain. Point the way if you please." Moira tried to hide her amusement.

Galin proceeded to give her a list of directions to her destination. He'd been careful not to pry when she'd left his ship before, but his curiosity was beginning to get the better of him. When he finished he took the plunge and asked, "What's your business there?"

She regarded him closely, "Meeting an old friend Captain."

Galin nearly choked when he saw her cloak clasp. _Old friend indeed._ He thought.

One of the many stories about the Warden Commander was her involvement with the Antivan Crows. There were rumors that she had taken contracts from the Crows in the days leading up to the most well known Landsmeet in Ferelden history. It was also known that one of the companions who aided her during the worst of the Blight was a Crow, a _very_ important Crow now.

_If I had to guess, the same one who gave her that clasp._ He involuntarily looked around.

His worry over her safety disappeared as he said; "I'll be here loading for a week or so before heading back towards Ferelden."

"I should be done by then Captain. We can discuss the particulars of you handling our trade on the return trip." With that she headed down the gangplank.

Galin watched her go, pleased with himself for making a good impression on the Warden Commander.


	2. Antiva

It's Bioware's universe, just exploring the planets.

_Okay, I'm finally getting around to revising some of the chapters of this story so they read a little easier. Chapter 2 has improved a lot because of it. :) Enjoy!_

* * *

**Antiva**

Moira crossed the quay, dodging men, carts, and containers as she made her toward the wide man-made waiting area and exit point to the avenue that would lead her into the city. She was impressed by the level of engineering it had taken to construct the stone piers that jutted out into the water and connected to each other by a long, wide strip. Once or twice Moira could see where the stonework had needed replaced because those stones were less worn than the rest but meticulously fitted into the exiting structure.

She started up the main causeway while carts passed her in both directions carrying goods and materials to and from the ships. Down the beach a ways she could see men sorting fish while their boats bobbed on the waves that lapped against the khaki sand. Walking uphill she passed a worn but tidy squat stucco building painted red. Hanging above the door was a ship. _Harbor Master? _She thought. Its gated courtyard opened up to the street and it was full of people. She paused out of curiosity and looked in. She could tell some of the men were sailors, with their rough clothing and bare feet. Others were clearly merchants, richly dressed and standing impatiently with their bodyguards. A few were probably ship's captains, clutching papers in leather folders, looking annoyed and in a hurry.

The harbor area of any city was a busy place but Moira was taken with the amount of people everywhere, all dressed in more different styles than she was accustomed to seeing in Amaranthine. She walked uphill between buildings weather beaten and bleached, sturdy like they'd seen many storms blow off the ocean, tiles dingy with dirt and pollution from the nearby factories. Most were probably warehouses, their doors heavy and their plaster peeling. She could see some were open while men worked in front of them or appeared and disappeared from their dim interiors. Moira stayed on the main as Galin had indicated, occasionally looking down the cobbled streets that bisected it.

Here, on the outskirts, the city smelled of tanneries, coal fire, strange spices, fish, and too many people. She smiled inwardly remembering a bit of conversation from long ago.

_"Ah yes...that smell. Just like rotting flesh. Now if I had a prostitute, some fish chowder, and a corrupt politician, I'd really feel at home!"_

When she left the warehouse district she started passing rundown apartments. Two story structures that stretched out in both directions from the avenue she was on. The sound of children's voices and the barking of dogs drifted from between the buildings and she turned to look at the people bustling around. The gutters of the streets were open, but she was used to that, children jumped lithely across them somehow managing to miss the filth as they lost themselves in play. Moira spotted women hanging out wash or standing around chatting, pausing from their conversation only long enough to catch sight of a wayward child. In many ways it reminded Moira of the alienage back home. She looked over the buildings again unconsciously comparing them to the ones she'd grown up in. Many weren't plastered or were plastered poorly, their baked brick and stone construction showing through, but all of the ones she could see had tidy stoops and many had flowers or coarse woven rugs on the stone stairs.

She passed several rows before the apartments opened up to a small community marketplace with its modest shops lining the perimeter and impromptu carts turned stores parked near the water fountain in its center. The cobblestones here were uneven and some were missing or broken but the buildings facing the interior were all brightly painted and looked fresh.

Fishwives were hawking their products, arguing loudly in a language Moira didn't comprehend. Young girls carried water vessels resting on coiled rags on their heads, some with smaller siblings in tow. Women with baskets of bread, vegetables, and meat passed her, heading in the direction of the apartments. The place was alive and the low din of everyday noise was everywhere. Moira made her way through the press, searching for the exit that would take her into the heart of the city. She was navigating through the press of people where the street narrowed when a thin man casually bumped into her.

_Clumsy._

To the great surprise of the thief she spun around and grabbed his wrist. He glared at her angrily and went to jerk away from her grasp when his eyes went wide. He had seen the broach and felt the dagger pressing into his under arm. A few of the other patrons noticed the two figures standing dead still and paused to watch.

"Unwise my friend," Moira said coldly.

He squirmed under her icy stare. "My apologies, Lady, I didn't know." His reply was stilted, unfamiliar with the Common tongue. He produced the purse he had tried to steal from her and offered it back. She pressed her dagger a little more sharply into the man watching his moment of panic as he wondered if she was going to kill him anyway.

"I'd be more careful if I were you." Moira withdrew the dagger, secreting it away. She calmly took the purse and buried it in a pocket of her cloak.

"Get lost." She said dismissively.

"Yes, Lady." The man hurried away from her, looking back to see if she followed.

_Nothing like a little pick pocketing in the morning to get the feel of a city is there?_ She knew she'd asked for it, but she was prepared for it. She grinned inwardly scanning the sea of faces. _Let's see how long it takes before they appear._

Moira started on her way again, ignoring the curious stares and whispers. It wasn't long before she received her answer as two men appeared at the mouth of an alley. They watched her coolly as she passed and Moira took note of them. They were dressed in hardened leather cuirasses and leather skirts, scarlet tunics showing beneath. It was their sword hilts she was interested in however. The Crows of Antiva preferred a specific style of long dagger, standard issue according to what Zevran had told her.

"Ah, there you are." She whispered. _But do you report back to the Guild or are you part of someone's cell? _

Moira walked on, pausing in front of a tavern and pretending to read its sign. _Good _she thought when she happened to glance behind her and spotted one of the men from the alley following a distance away. Moira reminded herself not to take a look around for the other one. She glanced again at the sign, "The rocking chair" and left.

Moira could tell she was leaving the poorer district when she noticed the houses were all in good repair and their gutters and sewers were closed. She paused in amazement at that. As she inspected the street closer she noticed drains and realized the sewers were all underground! The majority of homes were storied here as well but there were quite a few singles in the mix, rooftops opening up to gardens whose flowered plants hung in tendrils over the house face. The doors were more ornate and the windows were made of clear glass. Everywhere was color, only dimly muted by their plastered makeup and set off by the green of plants. _Amazing._

Finally she made her way through the gates of a bigger, more affluent market. She walked to the fountain in its center and drank from cupped hands. Women filled ceramic urns from the clear waters exiting from the wide mouthed vases that decorated the foot of the statue in the center. Their skirts tied up, baring their calves as they waded the shallow waters of the pool surrounding it.

Moira scrutinized the centerpiece, two figures, one male the other female carved from marble. The woman was struggling against the man who held her by her arm and waist, her flowing robes made to look as though a breeze had caught them and were billowing them in one direction. Her face was turned away, tendrils of hair across her carved expression of reluctance and panic. The figures hands were pressed against the man's bare chest, the muscles of her bare arms showing the strain in trying to push the powerful warrior away. The warrior was gripping her, trying to subdue her, his expression hard and determined. Two figures locked in eternal struggle. She decided that she liked it.

Sitting on the wide concrete lip of the fountain she watched the comings and goings for a few minutes. Bright tents of the open-air market, stalls selling all kinds of fruits and vegetables, even a few that were selling nuts. She thought she saw some vendors selling prepared foodstuffs, the smell of roasting food in the air, and her stomach gave a little growl. There were more stalls selling household goods, exotic items from other lands, jewelry, weapons, everything and anything a person could want. The whole square was full of people and she could see more standing at the counters of beer shops or taking lunch in the square's restaurants when she looked through the people passing in front of her. It was difficult to see from where she was sitting but she wondered what was in the shops that were, undoubtedly, surrounding the place.

Moira watched enjoying the experience of being nothing more than a simple bystander, pretending as she was to not notice the men trailing her as they melted in and out of the crowd. If she hadn't spent so much time with Zevran and Lelianna she wouldn't have noticed them at all. _Of course, it helps that I'm looking for them._

Moira decided to browse the market for a while before heading to her final destination. The day was beginning to warm now that the sun had crawled higher in the sky and Moira took a moment to enjoy the warmth on her face before standing. She walked slowly down the rows of vendors, seeing wares from across Thedas.

After walking past several stalls carrying jewelry she settled on one after spying a set of silver bracelets. She picked up the pair of braided bracelets and examined them, running a thumb over their ridges.

"You have a fine eye, Lady." The merchant began in Common, accent noticeable but not overwhelming. "Those were made by the master smiths of Par Vallon themselves!" He continued his sales pitch. "I was told they were very old when I acquired them, worn by a Qunari princess." He smiled broadly at her.

She turned them over in her hand. They were finely made it was true, near perfect in fact, simple, elegant, strong and functional. _Much like their people. _She smiled at his words.

"How much?" She asked. These would make a fine gift for her cousin, Shianni, liaison to the Landsmeet for Denerim's alienage. When Moira thought about it, she hadn't seen Shianni in a long time. She'd been remiss in answering her letters too.

_So many things left to be done, darkspawn in the south and Frostbacks. The ever present need for reconstruction at Vigil's Keep, strange rumors from the north. Still, I should be better about seeing my family._ Moira's thoughts turned over quickly while she waited for the price.

"1 sovereign, 20 silver." The merchant replied smiling.

Moira met his eyes seeing the greedy gleam in them. She looked his wares over closely, baubles from all over from the look of them. She noticed some were better made and more expensive looking than others. She wondered how many he'd come by honestly.

In a measured voice she said, "I knew a Qunari once. He was a Sten of the Beresaad." She watched for his reaction and was unsurprised when his face paled.

"We spent a long time traveling together. He was a tireless warrior, very devout in his beliefs. Didn't speak much but when he did it was often about his homeland." She returned her attention to the bracelets in hand.

The merchant looked nervous. He took a step back and glanced over her appearance.

Moira smiled at the merchant reassuringly. "60 silver." She countered. She doubted he'd paid that much for them.

"Done, Lady." The merchant smiled nervously as they made the exchange. Further down the row, from the corner of her eye, she saw one of the Crows following her examining a dagger. Moira considered ignoring him before changing her mind.

"The ones you're wearing are better made." She said as she made to move beside him. Moira felt a certain sense of satisfaction at the startled expression that flittered quickly across his face.

"_Permisso?" _The Crow answered.

She gestured to the dagger in his hand and smiled impassively. The Crow's eyes darted around quickly before coming back to her, touching briefly on the broach she wore. "Will you take a message for me to Master Arainai?" She watched his expression of cool professionalism change subtly at the mention of Zevran's name.

The Crow seemed to think about it a moment before answering. "_Si."_ He once against darted his eyes behind and around her. Moira wondered if his companion was somewhere behind her but had to trust they would do nothing foolish.

"Tell him to meet me for dinner." She clapped him on the shoulder once before passing him back the way she'd come.

She exited the rows of tents and walked toward the Chantry, huge and imposing, dominating the far corner of the square. The usual Chanters board was out front with the usual types looking over the jobs listed on it. Moira passed them and headed toward the gate that would lead her to her destination. She glanced up at the birds carved into the gate and was confident that the Crows would deliver her message.


	3. Roihden's Gold

_Bioware owns the stuff that is clearly not made up._

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Moira stood before two heavy and ornate bronze doors. They were weathered and had turned the greenish black that copper often did when it wasn't constantly maintained. It was at odds yet oddly fit in with the outside of the polished stone structure on whose stoop she stood. The doors seemed to be depicting a variety of scenes that when she took a closer look made her heart speed up, face flush, and stomach twitch. Most of the buildings she'd passed were stucco and, other than the Chantry, this was the first she'd seen constructed solely from stone so that it looked more like a temple than a brothel. _A temple to the pleasures of the flesh?_ _Ack, I'm starting to sound like Zevran_.

Two Qunari guards stood to either side, stone still save for the slight movements they made to ease the muscles that had been still too long. The Qunari were giant bronze skinned men with stern expressions and a fierce reputation, though what their women were like was anyone's guess. They were armed and though they seemed relaxed and at ease Moira knew just how quick such large men could move into action.

_No, these two aren't Qunari, Tal'Valosth. _That is what Sten had named them. For a moment she wondered what the giant warrior was doing now.

Stepping up the stairs she pulled a long, twisted cord with a large tassel on the end. From inside she could hear a loud bell ringing in response to her pull. Presently the door swung out and a lovely almond skinned woman stood in the opening it created. She smiled with full lips and exotic slanted eyes, moving to one side and gesturing with a graceful motion that Moira should enter.

"Welcome, please come in." The woman said in a voice that was soft and musical. Moira was trying hard to not stare at the woman. She was dressed in a pale pink dress of a material Moira had not seen before and the robe clung to the woman, doing nothing to hide her curves or the sensual way she moved. Moira ran her eyes over the woman's long black hair and did not miss the subtle clues that indicated the woman was wearing nothing beneath the robe.

Moira followed the woman through the entryway towards another set of doors. She looked down and took in the exotic rugs and lovely patterned tiles on the floor. There was a smell in the air of incense from a far off land and lamps in the walls provided a soft light that seemed to reflect off of everything. Everything gave the impression that one was entering another realm and sensation was a similar yet different to the one she'd experienced when entering the Temple of Andraste. Moira didn't have time to reflect on it before the dark haired woman opened the other set of doors and led Moira into a sitting room.

"Madame Meme will be with you presently. Enjoy your stay." The dark eyed beauty gave Moira a slow, lingering once over and licked her lip ever so lightly before turning away and disappearing into an adjoining room.

Moira exhaled sharply once the woman disappeared. She had faced a lair full of drakes looking to make lunch of her once in the village of Haven. She had that same uneasy feeling of prey in a den full of predators now. She remembered crawling through tunnels only to be attacked by drakes that dropped from the ceiling as if from nowhere. She ran a hand over her armor unconsciously. A master craftsman had forged the scales from those same drakes into the armor she wore now.

_Who turned out to be the prey in the end?_ She mused. Irony was funny like that.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a tall, voluptuous woman of later years. Her face and form were still beautiful and she moved like a woman that wasn't used to being argued with. Her eyes were warm but businesslike as she assessed Moira.

"Welcome ser, would you care for a drink while we discuss what you might enjoy?" Madame Meme took Moira by the arm and steered her towards another room.

Madame Meme led her to a low sofa and sat her down, taking a seat next to her. Meme reached over to a bottle that was on the table, next to a thick collection of large books, and poured a honey colored liqueur into two glasses. She handed one to Moira before settling into the cushions. Moira smelled the liquid before taking a sip. It was strong but not unpleasant. Much better than some of the liqueur she'd tried in her travels.

"Now my sweet, why don't you tell Meme your desires." The older woman said in a heavy Antivan accent. She watched Moira squirm uncomfortably a moment. "Come now," Meme said resting a hand on Moira's thigh, "whatever your pleasure we can accommodate it here. Do not be embarrassed to share your fantasies with me, I have heard it all." Meme looked at her thoughtfully for a quick moment. "If it helps, we have books you can look through to get an idea." She smiled gracefully.

Moira took a deep breath and regarded the woman. Relaxing with what she saw there, she rolled her shoulders and leaned back into the cushion as well.

"For starters, I'd like a room with a real bath in it." Moira started. Meme waited. "I'd also like an Antivan massage." At that Meme's eyes brightened slightly.

"Anything else sweet thing?" She asked.

"A private dining room to be used tonight. For two." Meme cocked an eyebrow.

"You are expecting someone no?" She asked.

"Yes," Moira said. "An old friend."

"And this friend of yours, their name? We are happy to entertain our client's guests down here if they are otherwise…occupied." Meme went on, a knowing smile on her lips.

Moira paused a moment considering what to say. Then she smiled, "Master Zevran Arainai."

Madame Meme's eyes widened and she coughed a little into her drink. Recovering herself quickly she scrutinized Moira and _really_ looked at her. Her eyes flickered over Moira's face, lingering on her scars.

"Ah, yes, Master Arainai. We are familiar with him here." Meme smiled warmly. There was something in her face that spoke of familiarity indeed.

"I'll bet!" Moira said with a laugh.

Madame Meme continued unruffled, "Now, about that massage. Come, I will show you some of our most skilled masseurs." Meme stood and offered Moira a hand. Moira took it and allowed the other woman to lead her into a room full of scantily clad men and women. Every race and nation seemed to be represented here, well except Qunari of course. Soft light glistened off of oiled bodies while heads turned as she and Meme entered. Meme looked pointedly at three men and three women, watching as they padded softly over to where Moira and she stood.

"Now, take your time. Each of them is an artist of exceptional quality. They will massage away your worries." Meme continued as she looked to Moira, "It is unnecessary to go over the rules, no?"

"I'm aware." Moira said, "I will not abuse your people." It was then that she noticed the bouncers in the shadows of the room. She couldn't see them clearly, discreetly concealed in the shadows but she knew the wouldn't hesitate to eject anyone who thought to damage the merchandise.

Meme nodded while giving a gentle push to the small of Moira's back. Moira stood for a moment considering the men and women in front of her. Two of the women were elvish, light haired and fair. Moira skipped over them. She caught her breath at the sight of the dark haired lovely who had greeted her at the door. _Maybe_. Moira ran a lingering eye over her before turning to the men. The woman smiled at her and Moira nearly decided right there. There was one elf in with the men. Dark like the woman she was considering, almond skin with those slanted eyes. But no, she looked to the other two men. Both were tall, human, and muscular, one more lithe than the other. If she were looking for a military occupation she would think archer on the thinner of the two and sword and shield for the other. "Archer" was blonde with green eyes but he looked detached when she stepped up to him and looked into his eyes. "Sword and board" met her eyes and she saw real lust in them. He was rougher looking, red gold hair with hazel eyes. She carefully looked him over, noticing thin, faded scars on his chest and arms. Whatever he'd been in another life hadn't left him completely.

Moira looked at the dark haired woman again and sighed. "Him", she nodded towards the warrior.

"Why not take both sweet? Helen and Alex work well together." Meme gave her a wicked grin.

"He'll do…for now." Moira grinned back at Meme. It wasn't the first time she'd found her way into a brothel but Roihden's Gold was a far cry from The Pearl in Denerim.

Meme laughed and showed her upstairs.

Madame Meme ushered her into a spacious room with a large stone tub. "I'll have water sent up immediately." She said. "I'll send up some wine with a plate of food while you wait. I'm sure you are ravished."

"Thank you." Moira looked around the room, gaze lingering on the bed.

"Should I send Alex up with the food then?" Meme smiled.

"Yes, I think that would be good." Moira turned to the other woman. "Thank you."

"Someone will alert you when Master Arainai arrives." Meme grin was mischievous as she exited the room.

Moira opened the cabinet and placed her pack inside, hanging her cloak on a peg next to it. She unbelted her swords and leaned them on the sidewall. Taking a look around she started to remove her daggers and secret them around the room. Zevran had taught her many things in the years they had spent together. One was how to hide knives in convenient places. She had poured herself a glass of water when the door opened and the first of the urns of water appeared. The first was soon followed by a second and she wondered at how they were heating the water so quickly.

Alex appeared with a tray full of food at the same time that the third urn arrived. He set it on the table before looking at her. "Would you like to eat before we begin?" He gave her a wolfish look.

She was hungry, it was past midday and breakfast was hours ago. Moira sat and started to nibble on the bread and meat. "Care to join me?" She asked, sliding the other chair out with her boot.

He came up behind her and rested his hands on the skin her shoulders. Leaning down he whispered in her ear. "Better that you eat now, you'll need that energy later." He ran a light touch over the nape of her neck that sent a shiver down her spine.

He didn't sound Antivan, he sounded like he could have come from Ferelden. Moira ran her eyes over Alex attempting to discern where he was from. Tall, broad shouldered, thick but muscled torso, long muscular legs flexing under those shear loose pants he was wearing. Moira watched the way he moved over to a door that opened into the wall. There was something in the way he moved that reminded her of someone else.

_No better to not think about it. _Not if she wanted to keep her ardor intact.

He removed a table and started setting it up close to the low fire. It was the length of a man with a hole cut through one end of it. He returned to the closet and took a long cushion and thin blanket from it. These he placed on the board before looking back to her.

"Why don't I help you out of that." He indicated her armor as he crossed the room. He was looking at her as if she were already undressed. She didn't argue as he made easy work of the buckles and straps that held her armor in place. It was on the floor in short order, done with the skill of someone with long familiarity. She wondered if this skill was also a hold over from his previous life.

He whistled softly when he got a look at her stripped down to her small clothes. "You've seen your fair share haven't you?"

"You could say that." She replied, her features hardening slightly.

He ran a hand over the wide scar on her throat following the series of puncture marks down her chest to the flatness of her stomach then down across her firm thighs. "What did this?" Alex asked.

Moira flexed her hand, stiffening, "Dragon." She said flatly.

Alex's head snapped up sharply and he looked hard into her face. Taking a slow look over her again he lingered on the numerous scars that marred her body. His eyes stayed longer on some of the worst ones. He took her hand and led her to the table, helping her to lie down. Moira was glad he'd let it drop.

He poured warm, scented oil on her back and began working it into her muscles. Kneading away knots and tension she hadn't known she was carrying. She relaxed under his hands and started to allow her mind to go blank.

"You know," Alex started off, "I served during the Blight." He felt her stiffen under his hands. "My family is from Redcliffe. I was away when all those terrible things were happening in the castle." Moira remained quiet. "But, then I was told, there came a couple of Grey Wardens and their companions. They did Redcliffe a great service I heard later. They helped a great many people, personally, including my cousin."

He started rubbing her lower back and sides. "When the call came for volunteers to join the Redcliffe regulars I signed on. The Blight was a threat to everyone, of course but I joined because I thought that anyone who could come in and organize a citizen militia against the undead and win _and _find the Urn of Sacred Ashes just couldn't lose."

His hands were working over her bottom but she was unnaturally still and full of tension. "When we marched to Denerim we were all so frightened. What we saw there, well, there's no preparing for that is there?" His voice grew hoarse.

"I was fighting near the eastern gates when we saw the Archdemon fly overhead. A sight that still haunts my nights." His voice had taken on a far away sound. "I don't know how much later it was, we were all so exhausted and so many had died. Then the light pierced the sky and the hordes of darkspawn we had been struggling against all day suddenly turned and started running away." He paused and looked down at her, running fingers over the matching scars on her back.

"It was that night that the first stories started drifting into the ranks. Stories of two Grey Wardens fighting against a beast that looked like a dragon but wasn't. It's said that they single-handedly took the tower in the push to the top." He stopped, waiting to see if she said anything. She didn't, even as Alex noticed her sides moving with long deep breaths.

"It's said that one of Wardens was mauled to death by the beast before being flung to the stones on the top of Fort Drakon. It's said that was when Loghain made the killing blow and ended the creature's life." His hands started over her body again.

The silence stretched out for a long time. Moira's face was tight and she was trying to push painful memories back into the place she had hid them. The good feelings she's had were gone now.

"It's true, I was dead. If it hadn't been for two very accomplished mage healers who both happened to be close to me I would have been permanently dead." She paused and said more to herself than him. "Trapped in the Fade forever."

She rolled over onto her back meeting Alex's eyes. The look on her face spoke of memories better left buried. "I can trust that this stays between us."

Alex studied her for a moment. _A dangerous woman._ He thought of the many stories that circulated about her. _She has the look of so many Blight veterans, maybe worse considering who she is_. He understood. There was a lot from that time he wanted to forget too.

"Of course." He smiled when he said it. "If anyone asks you're just another foreign woman looking for some relaxation. Besides, I wouldn't have much of a future if I shared everything clients told me." She relaxed and made a small, although forced, laugh.

"Let's see if I can do a better job this time." He started on her shoulders again, this time pressing and rubbing in different places now that she was lying on her back.

"How does a soldier from Redcliffe come to work in a brothel in Antiva?" Moira asked. "There's always a need for skilled soldiers."

"True," Alex said, "but there isn't much in the way of pay is there?" He gave a grin and a chuckle.

"During the rebuilding of Denerim there was a lot of trade in the harbor, I was working as a hired guard for a merchant who was carrying leather goods from here. I would make the passage back and forth with him. One night we were docked down in the harbor and me and a couple of friends headed out for a night of pub-crawling. We'd gotten pretty drunk when a good-looking woman asked if we were interested in other pleasures. Of course we were all game and followed her to a whorehouse in another part of town. Well, we pretty much found ourselves robbed of everything we owned. My friends found their way back to the ships but Madame Meme found me.

"One of her bouncers was visiting a friend of his when he overheard two of the women talking about me." The look on his face became downright wicked. "About how I was good with my hands and had stamina to spare. He sent a message and she was waiting for me when I woke up.

"She asked if I was interested in learning another trade, one far more pleasurable than fighting. She said there was a market in Antiva for young men to entertain the pleasures of bored Antivan Noblewomen. She said they paid well too. I couldn't say no to that and here I am."

Moira wondered if his story was true. It didn't matter. Stranger things were known to happen. "And have you found that to be true. About the noblewomen?"

Alex's eyes glinted and he grinned, "Oh yes, I'm quite popular amongst them. It seems that Antivan women like men with scars who can teach them that not all the best mounts are in Orlais." Both Alex and Moira broke into a fit of laughter.

Moira braced the glass of wine on the edge of the tub while she soaked in the hot water. She had her head resting on a towel while she closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of Alex brushing her hair. It wasn't terrible long, though long enough to trail over the edge of the tub and fall easily into Alex's hands. The massage had felt wonderful after she had relaxed and Alex had started making conversation that stayed away from battles fought long ago.

He had offered much more within the massage but, in the end, she had declined. She was certainly tempted but it was the knowledge that they had fought together at one time that decided her. She never slept with anyone who served under her command. It was a bad practice and one she'd found out the hard way.

She sighed and took a sip of the Antivan vintage, running a wet hand over her face to cool it. Alex paused in his ministrations and she heard movement in the room. A moment later the gentle tugging started on her scalp again.

"I see I am early for dinner. Though if this is dinner than I'm game." Came a voice Moira hadn't heard in a long time. She smiled broadly without opening her eyes.

"I believe I had asked to be alerted when you arrived."

"And miss out on this" Zevran paused slightly, "_charming_ young man here pampering you?" Even with her eyes closed she could just see him sizing Alex up.

"I suppose you charmed your way up here then." Moira opened her eyes to see her old friend sitting in the room's other chair, next to the tub. He looked much the same as she remembered. A few more lines etched around the eyes and mouth of his handsome face, but that happened to everyone as they grew older. At the moment those lips were quirked into a smirk.

In his most confident voice he said, "I'm quite popular here, I had only to ask before being told where I could find you."

Moira turned to look at Alex, "Thank you Alex, you can go now."

Alex stood and looked appreciatively at her naked body. "If you change your mind let me know." He smiled and left the room.

Zevran quirked an eyebrow, "Change your mind hmm. You did not sample him? He looks a delightful specimen, more than eager to do everything you could want." Zevran's eyes slid down her body, traveling the length of her.

"Or maybe you want someone else." He purred suggestively.

"Or maybe I have a rule about not sleeping with people who have served with me." Moira said a little more sharply than she intended. Her face was drawn and her eyes had narrowed.

Zevran seemed surprised, "Really?" He glanced toward the door.

He returned his attention back to her. "Denerim?" He was there. He knew.

She nodded. "He's from Redcliffe."

"The world is a small place no."

He held out his hand to her. Moira took it, glad for the help. She was feeling rather lethargic after her soak and a little too much wine. Zevran handed her a towel and watched her dry off. They had known each other too long for embarrassment, besides it wasn't uncommon for the mixed units that served everywhere to live and bath together.

Moira and Zevran had traveled together for two years rallying an army, had worked together to recruit and train new Wardens for four years after that, and tended one another's wounds more times than they could count. Of all her companions, only Zevran and her hound had stayed to help once the Archdemon had fallen. Moira never forgot that and she loved him for it.

"You caused quite a stir my friend." He said while she started dressing. "The mar-you're not really going to put your leathers back on are you?" He glided up to her, taking her hands in his. "Why not just leave this on?" he asked indicating her tunic. He held her eyes for moment, "Or better yet, wear this."

From one of his pockets he took out a thin robe similar to the one she had seen Helen wearing except this one had straps instead of sleeves. Moira's eyes widened and she took a breath. She reached out and felt the fabric. It was soft and silky in her fingers. She was surprised with the ease in which it slid against itself.

"Put this on, I will instruct you on the proper technique for showing it off." Zevran said in a playful tone. "Yes, just once something other than leather. Not that I don't like leather of course." He gave her a rakish look.

Moira looked from the slip to Zevran and back again, "Later." She promised before resuming donning her leathers. She had worn her armor daily for so long that it seemed a part of her, she felt vulnerable when she wasn't wearing it. It was feeling she didn't like.

Zevran sighed dramatically, "Leather it is then."


	4. Desires and Nightmares

~~~Trying something different with how thoughts are handled. Please let me know if it's confusing~~~~

* * *

Zevran and Moira sat inside a comfortably dressed dining room while servants filled the table with a host of different dishes. Roasted lamb, potatoes, some kind of stuffed fruit, a plate of greens, and a variety of sauces were served for them. It all smelled wonderful.

"As I was trying to say earlier, before you so rudely interrupted with your insistence upon dressing for battle instead of dinner, you caused quite a stir." Zevran poured them a generous amount of wine, handing her a glass.

"The street are full of rumors of a lone woman of means who might be a Grey Warden or a renegade Crow, or maybe both." Amusement glittered in his eyes. "You are fortunate that the message you were sending was enough to keep the Crows from making an attempt on your life."

Moira's eyebrows perked. "Do you think they would have succeeded? I seem to recall humbling their best."

"That you did. Incredibly hard to kill no." He smiled. "Of course, there was talk that one of Master Arainai's old lovers had come to kill him for affronts to her honor. The guild loves a good scandal almost as much as they love a good assassination attempt.

"When my spies told me where you were headed, well, imagine my pleasure upon hearing where you were waiting for your old friend Zevran."

Moira gave him a wide grin. "Didn't think I'd remember? You talked about this place often enough."

"And is it not _everything_ I said it was? Come, now, a toast." Zevran raised his glass. "To beautiful women and incredibly handsome men."

Moira inclined her head and took a long drink.

Zevran heaped food on their plates before asking, "How are things these days?"

Moira shrugged, "Still chasing roving bands of darkspawn, mostly in the south. We get reports coming from the Frostbacks sometimes too. Those drakspawn have proved harder to find. At least those areas are sparsely populated. It's quiet at the moment however."

Zevran nodded and waited for her to continue.

"Vigil's Keep has grown since the last time you were there. Nearly 70 Wardens live there now. Of course, some are from Orlais but I'm satisfied." She frowned thinking about how few men and women volunteered now. In the months after the defeat of the Archdemon there was no shortage of people wanting to become Wardens. So many looked to her, the last Grey Warden in Ferelden, and somehow thought that what she'd done was worth aspiring to. _How little they knew. _

"I'm planning on moving from Vigil's to Soldiers Peak in the near future. It won't be too much longer before we start having trouble with darkspawn. We shine like a beacon to them and we're too close to Amaranthine. Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as Denerim but why risk it when we don't have to?

"Redcliffe is still supporting our efforts, sending troops when called on to help in the south. And the Queen keeps me in supplies, money and men when needed."

Zevran quirked an eyebrow, "How many men does she send you."

Moira laughed, "Not nearly enough." She winked at him.

Zevran chuckled. "Anora still hasn't taken a husband?"

"I doubt she'll ever remarry. Frankly she doesn't need to. Her father slew the Archdemon and she was Queen throughout the worst of the Blight. People haven't forgotten that or her efforts to restore the country afterward."

"Will Ferelden deteriorate into civil war once again if she were to…expire?" He asked as if in passing.

Moira studied her old friend, looking to see if there was something more to his words. "No. The Teyrn of Highever will succeed her. He has the support and blessing of the Landsmeet, and he has heirs."

Zevran turned the glass on the table in a slow circle, "And who will succeed you?" He asked through lidded eyes.

Moira drained her glass, sat back, and put her hands behind her head. "If I decided to stay and not return?" She grinned.

"Mmm. You may decide just that when you give in to your attraction to me." He smirked.

Moira's eyes lingered on him. Her head was starting to swim. _How long had it been? _She asked herself. Too long, the tingle in her midsection answered.

"There are a couple of senior Wardens who show promise. They're in charge at the moment." She stood and filled their glasses. "What about you?"

"Oh, the usual, intrigue, affairs and murder. All the things I excel at."

"You never have told me how you managed to sneak back into Antiva and convince the Crows to forgive you."

His look was sly and mischievous. "I'm a man of many talents and resources my friend."

"So you're not going to tell me?"

Zevran smiled offering no more.

"Have it your way then." Moira sighed.

They ate, laughed and talked about old times and old adventures. In time the food was cleared away and it grew late. Zevran called for more wine.

_How many bottles is that now? _She asked herself.

"Do you know what I used to find funny?" Moira asked Zevran.

"What was that?" He asked becoming more amused with her increased drunkenness.

"You teasing Wynn about her bosom. It used to make her so mad. I always thought she looked funny when her feathers were ruffled." Moira giggled at the memory.

"Wynn had a fine bosom, though maybe not as fine as yours."

Moira snorted. "Mine can't compete with hers. Hers was _magical_." She broke into a fit of laughter.

"Perhaps you should let me rest my head on your bosom, to check for magical properties." Zevran offered.

"Only if you promise not to cry." She tried to look serious but she was just feeling too happy to pull it off.

"I would never dream of crying on your bosom my friend. There are so many other delectable things to do with a beautiful bosom like yours." Zevran's eyes gleamed and there was something about him that was hard to deny.

Moira bit her lip and gave him a smoldering glance before answering in a low voice, "Like kissing."

_Maker, what am I thinking. _Was she really thinking about taking her old friend to bed? She'd thought about him many times over the years, had wondered what it would be like to touch him, to have him touch and kiss her. She didn't think he'd refuse her, but did she really want to cross that line?

She blinked for a long moment. _Just once it'd be nice to have sex with someone I trust, someone who doesn't want anything._

Zevran watched the subtle shift of her body and the change in the look of her face. _Ah, seduction it's to be then. _

"Come, it is time for your modeling lesson." Zevran put an arm around her when she stood. Moira swayed slightly on her feet, glad of his support. The feel of him pressed against her just flamed the fires that she'd felt simmering for a long time and had done nothing to quench.

After pushing the door of her room closed he said, "Let's see how my gift fits." He sat and gestured that she should change. She sat on the bed and bent to take her boots off. She knew she had a problem when the black dots started dancing in front of her eyes.

_Too much wine. _She almost felt like her head and body weren't in the same place. She stood up a little uneasily.

Her fingers were struggling with the belts that held her armor together when she felt his fingers over hers, helping her. She was hyperaware of his touch. His mouth was close to her ear and she could feel his breath on her neck. Her skin rippled in goose bumps every time he exhaled. When they had loosened the leather and pulled it off he slid a hand under her tunic and ran it up her chest until it was resting on her throat. She leaned against him before turning her face so he could kiss her. Zevran caught her mouth and kissed her in a way that sent a shock right down to her toes.

Moira turned in his arms to face him. She looked over his face, tracing the tattoo there with her fingers. The feel of his hands and mouth were sending all the right signals. The feel and taste of him was intoxicating, he was going right to her head.

When they finally broke the kiss she whispered, "I have to sit down."

All the alcohol had finally caught up with her and she was feeling fuzzy and suddenly tired. "I think I'm drunk." She said apologetically.

"I think you most certainly are." He replied huskily, pushing her back on the bed.

_He looks so dark and sexy._ Moira reached out to pull him down to her. "Stay with me."

He leaned over her, pressing her into the bed. "I'd like to amore but even I wouldn't take advantage of you in your current state. It's waited this long, it can wait a little longer." He watched her eyes drift close as her body was relaxing into sleep.

_Ah Zevran, fine time for you to start acting the gentleman._ He smirked to himself. _Well maybe not a complete gentleman. _He removed the rest of Moira's clothes, running a hand over her, before pulling up the bed sheets.

She'd done a fair job stirring his desires and he was aching in some rather uncomfortable places. He determined to find that cute red head who had smiled at him earlier.

Moira awoke a short time later, leaving the bed to get her pack. She took out a packet of herbs and dumped it into the remains of the wine by the bed. She tipped it back and swallowed the contents grimacing. _Tastes terrible. _She crept back into bed and went back to sleep.

_***Moira held for as long as she could. The Archdemon was buffeting her with its wings, knocking her down painfully where it would then try to claw her. There was spirit fire everywhere, bathing her in a painful tingle. She kept moving, striking when there was an opening. Her strength was waning, she had to end it. Careless in her fatigue, she went to drive her blade into the blistered corrupted throat of the Archdemon.***_

Madame Meme stood behind her Qunari guards who were standing just inside the doorway, weapons at the ready. She'd heard of sleepwalkers before but it was the first time she was _seeing _one.

_Sweet Maker look at her! _Meme thought in shock when her guards broke open the door. The woman within was spinning, stabbing and slashing in, what she thought had to be, fighting formations_. _It was all the more shocking because the woman was naked and drenched in sweat.

_By Andraste's ashes, what is she seeing?_ Meme was frightened by the look on the Warden's face. It was twisted into a ferocious mask of determination, anger, and exhaustion the likes of which Meme had never seen.

One of the bouncers who walked the halls at night had rushed into her room near dawn saying that it sounded like a fight was raging in the Warden's room. She'd rushed out of bed thinking the worst, that one of her people was in trouble. She almost wished it were that simple now.

"Go get Alex and find out if Master Arainai is still here," Meme said to one of the women behind her.

Alex had told her privately that their guest was a Grey Warden, confirming what most had suspected from that cloak she'd been wearing. Meme knew all about Alex's past. He was the only one she could think of who might know something about Grey Wardens and their ways. Meme hoped he show up before the Warden decided that attacking ghosts wasn't enough.

Meme watched disturbed as the Warden re-enacted whatever battle was raging in her mind. She looked toward the place in the ceiling where the Warden kept focusing her attacks. _What's she fighting? _

Alex came running up the hall with a sheet wrapped around his waist. He pushed his way next to Meme. His face blanched when he saw what was happening.

"What's happening in there Alex?" Meme never took her eyes off the Warden.

"She's having a nightmare."

"That's not your ordinary nightmare Alex."

_No, it isn't._ His face became grim.

"She has what some call 'battle fever'. It makes people who've seen a lot of death or had something traumatic happen live out their worst fears when they sleep. Normally the person will just struggle or thrash and yell while they are in bed. I've never seen this before though." He gestured toward Moira.

"How do we wake her?" Meme asked.

"If we try to go in there now, she's likely to kill us all and not realize it. I've heard of wives being strangled in the middle of the night when they tried to wake a husband who was in the throws of battle fever." He looked to Meme "Better to let her spend herself some before attempting it."

_Moira was concentrating so hard on driving her sword into the beast that she didn't see the head coming until it was too late._

_***She was enveloped in darkness, bile rose in her throat at the stench of the creature's breath. In a space of seconds she felt the teeth breaking through her armor and piercing her flesh. She took a stuttering breath of terror when she realized that this was her death. She went to scream but she couldn't breath, the scream could not form. ***_

Alex and Meme watched the Warden's arms fall to her side, her body bending in an arch that looked to break something. Meme gasped when she saw the Warden start to gag even as Meme could see the panic, pain and terror wash over the Warden's face. Meme brought a hand to her mouth in a horrified gesture.

_That's when it happened. _Alex thought. _That's when the Archdemon tried to eat her._

"I think it's safe now." Alex said when the Warden's body sagged. He passed Meme, moving into the room. Giving the guards a glance he made his way softly towards Moira.

_Maker I hope this works and she doesn't take my head off. _Alex started to talk to the Warden softly and reassuringly paying close attention to her reactions. He was encouraged when she turned her head to face him.

Moira started to blink as her mind struggled to clear the heavy fog of dreams. She felt as though she were clawing her way to consciousness even as some unseen force tried to force her back into the dream. She could hear voices from far away but didn't know to whom they belonged.

"It's okay, you're safe. It's okay."

She focused her will and forced herself awake. She turned to see Alex approaching, hands outstretched. Rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand she realized she had her weapons in hand. She looked around trying to figure out what was going on. She saw the overturned furniture, the guards in the door, and Madame Meme looking cautiously at her.

Alex put his hand on her arm, "Why don't you sit down." She nodded dumbly, confused. She let him lead her to the bed. Alex tried to take the swords, her hands clenched for a moment before she let him take them. He put them back in the closet, and hung her cloak back on the peg.

He ran a hand over the griffons. _What did this do to people?_

He looked back to Moira. She was lying down with her hand on her head. He returned to Meme.

In a low voice he said, "I think she'll be alright now."

He took the older woman's arm and indicated that they should step outside. Meme exchanged a few short words with the guards who filled the doorway, making it difficult to see inside.

"Go on, get back to work. And keep your talk to yourself, we don't want to scare the clients." Meme directed her words to the crowd of faces trying to get a look in through the doorway. The men and women started to drift back to their rooms, many casting looks over their shoulders as they did so.

Meme watched them go. "You too Alex, make whatever excuse you need to I'll cover you." Alex nodded, glancing toward the room where the Warden rested.

Meme was waiting in the hall when the woman she'd sent to find Zevran returned. Thankfully with him in tow. His expression was cool and unconcerned. _It's easy for him. He doesn't have to worry about his friend going on a murderous rampage in the middle of the night. Bad business, this is._

Meme dismissed the woman. "Tyra tell you?" She directed at Zevran.

"I heard there was some excitement, yes."

"Your friend in there prone to those kind of outbursts?" Meme asked. She scanned his face while he answered.

"No." Zevran was telling the truth. He knew Moira had nightmares, she'd told him all Grey Wardens did. He also knew her dreams had grown worse in the years after Fort Drakon. He'd seen her tossing in her sleep and murmuring many times. He'd tried asking her about it but she was reluctant to talk.

_What's happened since I left?_

Zevran collected his thoughts. He gave Meme his most charming smile. "Let me go find out what happened."

Entering the room he did his best to close the broken door. Moira was curled up under the covers with her eyes closed.

"If you were planning to tear the room apart, the least you could have done was wait for me to help you. A tornado of passion yes?" He kept his voice light as he sat on the bed.

"I don't know what happened Zevran." Moira opened her eyes and looked at him. "The dream has never been like that before." Her whole body hurt and her scars were burning, much like they had when they were fresh.

Zevran smoothed her hair back. "We all have bad dreams amore. Most of us usually stay in bed for them." His looked around, spotting the envelope on the table.

Picking it up he asked, "What's this?"

"Something to help me sleep. It helps to keep the nightmares at bay." Moira answered.

He smelled the inside, his eyebrows sliding upward. Carefully peeling the envelope open he tasted it. _Not just a sleeping draught. Drugged, heavily too._

"Where did you get this?" He asked casually.

"When we were in the last port. I ran out of the ones I'd brought with me. I went to see a healer in Bastion about more." Moira explained. "Why?"

"Because that healer gave you a little something extra. Something that shouldn't be mixed with large amounts of alcohol."

_Or maybe the healer had given her exactly what she'd asked for. _

"What's the 'extra'?" Moira looked curiously at the envelope.

"A drug made from the seeds of a mountain flower. Sometimes we will use this to encourage a mark to suicide. Mix a little of this with a large amount of drink and it brings waking dreams, intense ones. Usually fits of hysteria that make the person dangerous and unpredictable.

"Did the healer you bought this from know you were a Warden?"

"I didn't tell him, no." Moira thought about the exchange between her and the healer and couldn't find anything that seemed out of place.

Zevran rested a hand on her face. "Sleep now. When you wake I will take you to my house and show you the sights of my city." He smiled at her then.

Zevran's mind turned. _Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe, or maybe it was a very cleaver attempt at murder. But who was the target? _Zevran eyed the cabinet containing Moira's pack.


	5. The Game of Crows

Moira awoke to see Zevran sitting at the righted table examining a pile of sleeping draught packets. Several appeared empty, their contents spilled out on a plate in front of the master assassin. She experienced some embarrassment about how many packets there were. A part of her didn't like him knowing how often she needed the sleeping aid.

She stretched, sighing when her back gave a series of soft cracks. _I feel like I've been run over by a bronto._

She reached for the pile of clothes that someone had been nice enough to leave on the bed. _Zevran? _She glanced over at him again but he looked to be contemplating something. _When did he get his armor?_ He'd not had it the night started to wonder how long she'd been asleep.

She went to the washbasin, poured in some water and started to wash her face. Taking a look in the mirror she grimaced. She had dark circles under bloodshot eyes and the scars on her face and neck were an angry dark pink. She'd had more than a few drinks on several occasions but this was a first. She brushed her hair out with her fingers and finished up with her morning hygiene routine before starting with her armor.

"Do you take this every night?" Zevran watched her while she suited up.

She paused while buckling her waist cinches. Not looking at him she answered. "Yes."

A frown creased his features. _Does she know that these are addicting? _He looked at the pile of herbs. _ How bad have her dreams become? _He started to wonder how long she'd been using them.

"Any of the ship's crew know?" She looked over at him then. His eyes were bright and intense, as they always were when he was concentrating on something.

"I usually dissolve it in hot water so the crew probably knew I had a cup of tea at night. Do you think it was someone onboard?"

"Did they know your business in Antiva?"

She smiled at him, "I didn't mention what my business was to anyone. I only asked for directions to here and mentioned meeting an old friend."

She thought about it for a minute. "The Wardens think I'm in the northern nations looking for support to build a new fortress there."

Zevran looked surprised and amused. "So much secrecy just to see me, I'm flattered."

Zevran thought about what Moira said. After pursuing several lines of thought he came to the conclusion that the tampering couldn't have happened on the ship. For what anyone knew the tea was nothing more than that. He couldn't come up with a reason anyone would try murder her. The Wardens were well respected. She was well respected for all her efforts during the Blight. _An old enemy in Antiva?_

He thought about the time between her disembarking and his meeting her. _Maybe enough time for someone, someone resourceful, to get information on her before she came here._

He ran a hand through his hair. He suspected that a plan was already in motion when she arrived. Her presence just facilitated the attempt.

She started to go to retrieve her knives from their hiding places. Taking a look around she realized that it could take awhile. The room was a mess. She went for the one she knew should still be under the edge of the mattress.

Zevran watched her stick her hand under it amused. He smirked at her look of confusion.

"Looking for these?" He tapped his finger on the table where he had the half dozen throwing knives lined up.

"I took the liberty of collecting them for you. It's always good, after all, to know where a woman hides her knives."

"Especially if you want to keep them out of your back." She joked. He inclined his head in acknowledgment.

She joined him by the table and started to slide the knives in place. "What happened to me last night?"

"You became part of The Game of Crows." Zevran sighed and rubbed his forehead.

She sat down across from him. "Which is?"

"How an ambitious Crow becomes head of the flock." Zevran picked up some of the herbs spread out on the plate. "All of them were altered."

"An assassination attempt?" She asked remembering what he'd said earlier about the effects of the drug. "On me?" She hadn't thought about the possibility since Master Ignacio's assurances years ago.

Zevran gave her a level look. "The Crows don't accept contracts for you. A foolish young Crow might try to kill you for reputation but would pay a terrible price upon discovery.

"This was an attempt on me. It would appear that an opportunistic Crow saw your presence here as a perfect time strike. They were pretty confident I would be spending last night with you."

"You almost did." She licked her lips at the memory of his kisses. _If you had I would have likely cut you to pieces. _The realization made her angry.

He gave a self-satisfied smile. "It would seem lady fortune was smiling on me when I resisted the lure of your charms."

"Do you know who might have organized this?" She asked securing the last of the knives.

"The game is a subtle one my friend. One where the players are careful not to reveal themselves until it's checkmate." He stood, gathering up the packets and plate. He dumped it onto the hot embers. He did not see how Moira cringed.

He turned. "Now is when my opponent risks discovery. The attempt has failed and it's my turn to make a move."

She went to the cabinet to get her things. Only her swords were there. "Where's my gear?"

"I had it sent ahead of us."

"Expecting trouble?" She looked over her shoulder.

"I always expect trouble when in the company of beautiful Wardens." His familiar grin was back.

Reaching behind and under the heavy piece of furniture she took out a small pouch of coins and some folded up papers. She pressed the papers down the front of her armor and slid some gold coins in various places before weighing the pouch in her palm.

She looked around. "I suppose I should see Madame Meme about this mess."

"It's taken care of." She gave him a hard stare.

He shrugged. "Being a friend of the Crows has its advantages."

_You mean being friends with you._ She nodded.

On their way out she saw Alex in the sitting room.

"Wait a minute Zev."

Alex saw her and smiled in welcome. "Feeling better?"

"Much, thank you." She took his hand and pressed the pouch of coin in it.

"What's this?" Alex opened the pouch, his eyes going wide. "This is too much Warden."

She put her hand on the back of his neck, drawing him down until she could whisper in his ear. "It's a gift, take it."

Releasing him, she turned to go. He caught her hand. "Come back before you leave and I'll make sure I earn this."

Zevran gave her a sly smile when she rejoined him. "Changed your mind?"

* * *

Once outside Zevran led them through narrow, cobbled streets towards the canals. Moira was impressed by the architecture of the houses. The walls were all clean painted stucco instead of the wood and stone she was accustomed to. Many of the homes had patterned windows made of many colors. Something she'd never seen before. It seemed as though everywhere they walked there was some marvelous carving or hidden garden with a private fountain.

As they walked along the edge of the canal Zevran pointed out the small boats being pushed by men with long sticks.

"Would you like to go for a ride in one while I recite poetry for you?" He asked when they stopped on a bridge overlooking the river.

"It doesn't start out _'the symphony I see in thee, it whispers songs to me'_ does it?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, I've told you that one then." Their shared laughter caused a few heads to turn in their direction.

They lingered on the bridge for a time watching the boat traffic. Zevran turned to face in the opposite direction and put his elbows on the bridge behind him. From the corner of his eye he looked at her, noticing how the sun light up the red in her hair.

"What really brought you to Antiva." He asked in all seriousness.

Moira watched how the water moved under the bridge. "I want to find a derelict Warden."

"Interesting," He pursed his lips. "But why not handle this yourself?"

"Because he's been gone too long and I don't know where to look, or even where to start looking. I figured the Crows were my best bet for returning the Warden to Ferelden, if he's not there already."

"And…"

"I have responsibilities that don't allow me to travel all over Thedas looking for one errant Warden."

Zevran looked thoughtful. "What will you do once he's found?"

Moira's face grew hard and she sneered slightly. "Make an example to the others of what happens when a Grey Warden doesn't fulfill their duty." She had to reign in her emotions, control the anger.

"Ah, so you want Alistair alive then." He said calmly.

"Can you do it?" Unsurprised by his response, she studied his face as he thought about it.

His face was unreadable when he answered. "For you, I would move Thedas itself. But it's going to cost you.

"It will take time to find someone so thoroughly lost. There are Crows in many places who can lend their ears and eyes to the effort. It will be a great expense tracking down leads though. The reward will have to be great to motivate one of them to go through all that effort and then travel with him to Vigil's Keep. Are you sure you want to spend that kind of coin?"

Her eyes and voice were steady when she answered. "Yes." She'd waited too long to close that chapter of her life.

"Before I tell you my price I want to show you something." He pushed off the stone railing and started walking.

They walked in silence until he'd led them to the front of a large manor house, apparently empty. It was stone, three stories and gated. It looked much like the noble houses in Denerim just made from different materials.

Looking through the gate Zevran said, "This house belonged to the former leader of the Crows. Before he met his end by my hand.

"When we parted in Amaranthine I was determined to come to some resolution with the Crows." He paused, remembering Moira on the dock and his feelings of being torn between the desire to stay and the need to address his problems.

"The closer I got to Antiva, the more I realized that something was burning inside me. Time had quelled the fire but the embers still burned hot.

"I hid in the city for many months, no small feat all things considered. It tested even my considerable skill. I waited and watched and in time my patience was rewarded." He paused and looked at the house for a long moment.

"You must understand that the only way to stop their hunting for me was to send them a message. I had to gain back the respect of the Crows through a supreme show of skill and a healthy amount of fear. I had to gain control, to enter into The Game of Crows." He grinned wistfully, "Even if I had to take a more direct approach than how it's usually played.

He looked to find her listening raptly, her face serious.

Meeting her eyes he said, "In the end I won. I had my freedom and my revenge for Rinna. But I wonder, have I achieved victory….or defeat."

"You lived, you won and you've become a powerful man. How does it feel like a defeat?" Moira felt mildly confused.

"Because…I had freedom from my past, and look what I did with it." Zevran's face was dark and serious as he brushed a hair from her eyes.


	6. The Hero of Ferelden

"And now, my friend, you must excuse me. This minor attempt on my life requires that I leave your company for a time." Zevran's face resumed the humor she often saw there. "But don't think you'll escape my advances for long."

After agreeing to meet up later, Moira headed in the direction of the market. Zevran had told her the way before departing for wherever it was he was going. Despite the events of the previous night and Zevran's words she felt lighthearted and _free. _Her time as a Grey Warden and Warden Commander had taken her across Ferelden many times; it had also meant that she'd been unable to leave it. There had been trips to Orlias and the Anderfels, of course. But those were always Warden business and usually involved skirmishes with darkspawn and keeping an eye out for potential recruits. This was the first time she'd had something resembling a personal trip in, well, ever.

_Better to enjoy it while I can. There will be enough work on the way back to make up for the time I've spent resting on my laurels. And to assuage any suspicion if I were to return without any news on the progress of a fortress in the north. _

She started thinking of the possibility of a fortress between Antiva and The Free Marches, pondering the logistics while she walked.

Moira stopped, wondering where the columned buildings were that Zevran had said would be down this way. Studying the area she realized that she must have taken a wrong turn at some point, she should be surrounded by trading houses and offices, not rows of rundown houses. She looked around and cursed under her breath. _Nothing to do but backtrack and try again. _Annoyed, she started back the way she'd come.

A group of well-armed men were standing in front of a shoddy tavern as she passed. She gave them a once over as she made to walk on. Experience was an excellent teacher and she spotted the two or three in the group who had the air of thugs about them. Moira didn't miss it when one of them hit the other, nodding in her direction.

She knew growing up that most elves stayed in the alienages. Those who were employed always tried to travel in groups to avoid trouble. A lone, armed elf might be seen as easy pickings even in Antiva where it was commonly known that the Crows had many elven members. The voice in Moira's head whispered, _but you're not a Crow are you._

Hearing the footsteps behind her she started scanning the area, paying attention to the side streets and alleys until she saw what she sought.

Moira felt her face grow grim, even as the first stirrings of excitement began. _If it's trouble they're after, they've found it._ She felt the surge of adrenaline in her veins.

She picked up her pace as she ducked into a narrow blind alley. It had enough room to maneuver without allowing anyone to get behind her. She stopped midway and turned to face the street. Unsurprisingly the men followed. Moira studied them with a practiced eye. Four men, human, two were armed in a similar fashion to her and the others wore simple swords. All wore leather armor of various qualities. They were like a pack of wolves. Individually not much of a threat, but in a group…_well that's when things get interesting_.

"One would think this knife ears has some experience, see how she waits for us." The man in the lead said to his companions.

"I dunno know about this Foilan, she could be a Crow." The other dual wielder said.

The one who must be Foilan answered. "I don't think so. Look at her, no tattoos, no Crow blades and she's alone." He grinned maliciously at Moira. "Once we take those swords and armor, she's just another knife ears for our pleasures."

Moira's eyes narrowed. In a calm voice she said. "I somehow doubt your man enough for me."

Foilan chuckled, "Don't worry about it lovely, my friends here are happy to help you out if you want more."

"Take a care Foilan. She's not local. Take a look at the scars on her face." Moira flickered her eyes to the one who had spoke. _Maybe he's not as stupid as he looks. _

Foilan stopped short, noticing for the first time her lack of an accent. He ran his eyes over her like he was trying to determine her origins. "Little matter Seras, there are four of us. Either way her valuables are ours."

"I'd listen to your friend Foilan and consider carefully before beginning this dance." Moira slid farther into the shadows created by the buildings in the late afternoon sun.

Foilan drew his weapons and smiled.

_Have it your way then but let's see if you know the steps._ Moira's hand flashed, landing a knife into the exposed flesh of the man on Foilan's right. The man clutched his throat as he bled out over his fingers. He fell to his knees to the apparent surprise of the others.

"Still feel like playing Foilan?" Moira's voice was smooth and hard drifting from the shadows. "I do." Her swords made a soft hiss as she unsheathed them.

Foilan sneered and sprang into action, lunging in her direction while swinging his swords. Moira marked where his two companions were before countering. The alley erupted into a blur of movement and the sound of steel clashing. Moira worked to focus their attacks directly in front of her, using the alley to keep them from flanking her and hindering their attacks by reducing the amount of space they could move in.

One of the swordsmen was trying not to trip over his fallen companion and Moira pressed her advantage. She locked Foilan's blades in her own and kicked him in a classic below the belt move. Pushed back, the breath knocked from him Moira shifted and feigned with one sword while thrusting the other through the off man's chest.

Foilan recovered quickly and Seras joined in the fray. Working together they pressed her back, trying to make an opening for Foilan to flank her. Moira's body thrummed, adrenaline firing her tainted blood, fueling her strength.

Moira danced back, looking to separate the men some and make them attack her individually. For a moment they all paused, panting, sizing each other up. Moira's eyebrow and lip quirked sardonically. Then, the fight was on again, Foilan leading the way. Moira dodged his attack sticking a dagger in his ribs. Seras used the moment to make a strike at Moira. Dropping a blade, she gripped Foilan's body and turned it into the arc of Seras swing. She shoved the body at Seras, unbalancing him. Leaving her sword in the corpse she sidestepped, getting in close to Seras while freeing another of her blades. She drove it through Seras's leather armor and into his abdomen.

Seras staggered back, dropping his sword and touching the flat handle of the knife. Moira felt wild and feral, as she often did when her pulse was pounding and she sensed victory. She pinned Seras with a hungry look, wanting to see what the man would do.

Seras looked to where the hilt of the knife protruded before eyeing Moira. Even though she looked unarmed he had no doubt she had more of those knives with her. He could offer to leave now and possibly live, or…_she could kill me._ He felt indecision tugging at him. The expression on the woman's face wasn't encouraging. She wore the mask of one who had spilled blood so often that she did so almost casually now.

Seras frowned and decided to take the chance. "I… yield."

Moira had little use for bandits and despised rapist. She'd recruited some of the former in the days after the fall of the Archdemon but never the latter.

"Tell me, if I'd yielded would you have spared me?" Her voice was cool and silky. Moira sauntered up to Seras and met his eyes. "Or would you have watched while your buddies used me before taking your turn?"

Seras felt the first twinge of panic as he thought of a lie she might believe.

"I thought so." Moira snatched the knife from his gut and rammed it into his manhood, piercing the artery within.

Seras went white with shock and pain as he doubled over. Unconcerned Moira collected her knives and daggers, wiped them off on the bodies and left the alley.

She eventually found her way back to familiar surroundings and headed for the tavern Zevran had told her to meet him at, the market forgotten. Moira paid little heed to the looks cast in her direction by other pedestrians as she walked. Life wasn't pretty and bloodletting happened, a lot.

Arriving in front of The Scarlet Harlot, Moria wondered, not for the first time, who thought up these names. The sign hanging in the front showed a woman in a red dress that revealed more than it covered. Below it sat a long rough-cut bench, worn smooth by countless bottoms next to a low rough-cut table.

_Zevran, you bastard, you've got an eye for these places_. She thought with amusement.

Moira went in and ordered from the bar. She could tell the barkeep wasn't particularly pleased by her presence but served her anyway. She took a table in the corner, watching the door. Moira had just settled in when one of the barmaids approached her.

"Ser?" The young elven woman looked uncertain how to proceed. "The owner asked me to let you know that there's a water pump in the back if you'd like to make use of it." She passed a furtive look around and whispered. "He's afraid you'll make trouble."

Moira sent a sideways glance towards the barkeep. "We wouldn't want that now, would we." She stood and inclined her mug in the direction of the barkeep, earning a scowl.

Out back, she set the ale on a turned over bucket and pumped water until it ran, washing her face and hands. The armor would have to wait until she could attend to it properly. Moira thought about how different things were here in Antiva compared to what she'd grown accustomed to in Ferelden. She was well known there, either by face or reputation. It never ceased to amaze her how eager humans were to overlook her race because she was Warden Commander and the Hero of Ferelden. That tolerance had not, unfortunately, changed the general perception of elves or overly improved their lot in life.

Moira had run into very few skirmishes like today since she assumed command of Vigil's Keep. _Maybe it's because you typically travel with a few of your fellow Wardens hmmm?_ _No petty thief wants to lose their life to people who cut up darkspawn several times a season. _

Most places were glad when she passed through or stopped if for no other reason than to be able to say they played host to the Hero of Ferelden. She tried to be patient with the people who pressed her for a blessing or other such nonsense. People needed heroes. She understood that. She just wished they didn't always want to hear the same story. _Well, Moira, you got your wish… at least for the time being. _

Shaking the water from her hands, she grabbed the mug and headed out front to take a seat on the bench. Moira reclined back and watched the people pass. Mothers with children, men carrying burdens, fancifully dressed servants all bustling about.

_Where are all the dwarves? Must be in the market district and I just didn't see any on my way through. _

Moira had been genuinely happy yesterday. She had been excited to see Zevran again. She rarely saw any of her companions except for Oghren and only when she visited Redcliffe. Over the years they had remained friends but had never become close. All her companions had played a part in clearing out Denerim and the Bannorn.___All but one. _Said the insidious voice inside her.

_____The things I had to do… _Moira's thoughts darkened as she scowled remembering the cavern they found excavated near Fort Drakon. Only Zevran had shared that hell with her.

Zevran had helped her lead the allied armies against the darkspawn in the Bannorn, find potential recruits within the ranks and get them all better trained. He helped her to build the Wardens as they were now. He also helped her by being a constant friend when she was at her lowest, when her heart was aching and there was no time to do anything for it. It had been hard on her to see him leave Amaranthine. He was her closest friend and her only confidant.

They had exchanged letters but his were sporadic and she never knew where to send hers. For a while his letters had stopped and she'd worried that the Crows had finally caught him. Then, one day, a letter had arrived carrying interesting news and a silver cloak clasp bearing the mark of the Crows. She hadn't known what it meant but guessed it might be related to his position within the organization.

A young voice interrupted her musings. "My Father says that elves should stay in the alienages or the houses of their owners."

Moira leveled a gaze at the boy standing a few feet away from her. He appeared to be about ten, not unlike many other boys she'd seen. "Really. And what does your Father say about elves who are Crows?"

"He says they serve their purpose but should remember their place. Are you a Crow?"

"No."

"Then why are you sitting here without your master?" The boy inquired.

_____________________________Sheesh, kid, give me a break already. _Moira gave a grin just this side of nasty and answered. "I don't know. Why don't you get your father and he can ask me."

"Oh, he won't be home until later. Will you still be sitting here?"

Moira could hear the clanking of armor coming from down the street. "Probably not, boy. I think those men over there want a word." Moira looked past the child to where a small contingent of armored men were heading in her direction.

_Well it was nice while it lasted._ Moira sighed inwardly. She set the mug to the side and waited.

His mother, seeing what was going on came to collect the boy. She looked to Moira and paled at her appearance. Looking to where the guards approached she said. "Let's go, dinner needs making." She steered her son away and hurried down the street.

The guards stopped and fanned out in front of her as though they expected trouble. "Your papers and weapons elf, hand them over." The man in charge said brusquely.

"Of course." Moira rose and reached into her armor withdrawing the papers she'd placed there earlier. Removing two she handed them to the guard. She did not remove her weapons.

Looking uncertainly between the papers in his hand and Moira he asked. "Do you have anything to support this…Warden?"

Many years ago Moira had Queen Anora draw up papers that would allow her to travel wherever she needed to without question. She had been kind enough to include a description of Moira and her place in Ferelden. Anora had also hinted at how the monarchy wouldn't appreciate Moira's rank being disrespected. Moira had also had the First Warden provide official papers reminding anyone who might be inclined to question that Wardens had the right to conduct their business without interference. If Moira were human it might not have been necessary. But she wasn't and preferred to use more official channels to avoid any repercussions that might be heaped on innocent elves.

Moira cursed silently for the absence of her pack. "I'm afraid that I don't at the moment."

The guard seemed to consider this before saying. "Come with me please, we'll need to check in with Captain Rosche. I'm sorry Warden, but this will help to avoid difficulties during your stay in Antiva City." He turned to lead her away.

"My papers." She stopped him. "You'll understand, of course, if I prefer to keep them."

"Oh, yes. Of course." He handed the parchment back to her, flushing slightly.

A short time later she found herself walking through the cobbled courtyard of a gated garrison. Men looked in her direction curiously as she passed until she was standing outside a heavy wooden door. Moira held herself as one amongst equals, confident in her abilities.

"One moment while I see if Captain Rosche is available." Moira nodded and waited as he disappeared through the door.

A couple of the other guards exchanged looks. "I hear that the darkspawn are still a problem in Ferelden."

Moira met the man's eyes. "They are. We're still dealing with them."

"There are rumors that pockets of the bastards are showing up in The Free Marches. Wardens from Orlias are supposed to be looking into it."

Moira nodded in affirmation. "We get reports of them there. We send Wardens when we can. Most of my Wardens are committed to chasing down the outbreaks in Ferelden however."

Another asked, "The Archdemon was defeated. Why are there still darkspawn on the surface?"

Moira hesitated before answering. "We're not sure, but we're trying to find out." The topic was often discussed amongst the senior Wardens. Something was going on with the darkspawn. They should all be in the Deep Roads again. Reports from Orzammar indicated that Behlen was making great progress in the Roads and had actually taken Aeducan Thaig. His armies of casteless were pushing them back but even he said that there was something different about the darkspawn.

"Is that why you're here in Antiva? Are there darkspawn?" The man was clearly concerned.

"Rest easy. As far as I know there haven't been any this far north." Moira tried to reassure them. The men who'd come to listen looked a little uneasy but didn't press. The door opened then and the guard who'd told her to wait reappeared.

"Warden?" He indicated the door. Moira excused herself.

Moira entered to find a tall black haired man waiting for her. "Captain Rosche." He introduced himself as he extended a hand. Moira embraced his forearm nodding once.

"Please come into my office." He said politely, walking through another door. Once inside he closed it and turned to study her. Moira was sure he was a lifelong soldier by the way he held himself and scrutinized her. She could also tell he'd come to some conclusion about her.

"Your reputation precedes you Warden Commander Tabris, my apologies for the inconvenience. We received a report of an elf dispatching some men in an alley earlier today." He studied her face.

Moira crossed her arms. "Thugs, looking for an easy target."

Captain Rosche seemed thoughtful. "Not as easy as they thought eh? A few less lowlifes in the world means less for my men to be concerned with. I'll see about setting things straight with the witnesses. Make them understand the circumstances. It will help curb unwarranted rumors about the resident elves. I'll also put it on file that we have the Warden Commander visiting our fair city and make sure the men have your description. I would expect with the rumor mill being what it is that the news of your visit will be across Antiva by tonight" He chuckled. "I doubt you'll have many problems with thieves again."

_Well that was easy._ Moira was pleasantly surprised.

"Will you need a copy of my papers or anything official?" She asked him.

"Won't be necessary Commander Tabris. We're not so far removed as to not know what the Warden Commander looks like." His eyes darted to the line of puncture scars. "If we need to reach you, where will you be staying?"

"You can send any missives to the Cloud Dancer. Her captain can collect them for me."

"Do you need a recommendation for lodging?" Rosche asked. "You're welcome to stay here in the garrison. The men would be pleased to know The Hero of Ferelden was staying for the duration." He offered earnestly. He smiled then and Moira saw that it touched his eyes.

Moira smiled back. "I appreciate the offer Captain but I have accommodations."

"As you wish then Commander. If you need any assistance while in the city don't hesitate to ask, we can arrange an escort should you require it."

"I will keep that in mind, Captain." Moira relaxed, she liked this Rosche fellow.

"I wish I could offer to show you around, but alas work beckons." Captain Rosche said as he showed her to the door. Moira glanced at the man's simple wooden desk and saw the stack of papers.

"Believe me Captain I know what you mean." The two shared a look of empathy. There was never a shortage of work to be done.

Outside a group of guards had formed. They crowded the area around the door to the inner office.

"See I told you it was her." Moira heard from someone close by.

A pair of enthusiastic young guards came up to her. "Commander? We'd like to know if you'd join us in the mess." They both beamed at her. "The food is good, you'll see." They encouraged. In the crowd Moira could hear men mumbling assent.

Moira pasted on a smile, it was time to be The Hero of Ferelden.

Several hours later she was able to escape the questions, the requests for stories, and the general ribald that usually accompanied it all. She made her excuses and tried to get back to The Scarlet Harlot alone. Despite trying, Moira ended up with two or three off duty guards walking her to her destination with the promise of more joining them. If she was lucky she might be able to buy them a round or two before saying her goodbyes.


	7. Some things endure

****I have to give a huge thanks to my hubby who helped with the bar banter! **

**

* * *

**The Scarlet Harlot was packed as Moira and her new companions made their way through the press of men blocking the entrance. Most appeared to be workers of various descriptions and were probably local to the neighborhood. Nearly all were holding mugs of ale and talking loudly.

_Clearly the regular watering hole._ The inside wasn't any better as Moira tried to catch a glimpse of Zevran in the crowd of bodies. The young guards with her squeezed around her and made a wedge to help clear the way. At the counter the barkeep looked startled to see her again, and in the company of the city guard.

"What'll be Commander?" The sandy haired youth named Bryan asked her. The barkeep, overhearing, blushed when he realized that the bloodied elven woman who had been there earlier was obviously someone with status.

"Ale is fine, thanks." Moira gave a small smile, trying to see the back reaches of the room.

Once they were served Moira listened to their stories about the city and their experiences within it. She laughed at their jokes and asked questions of her own until she saw a blonde head making its way towards them. Moira's spirits lifted when Zevran came into full view.

"Care if I join you?" Zevran quirked an eyebrow and smiled.

The guards exchanged uncertain looks between them; unsure they cared for the intrusion.

"You're not planning to keep this lovely lady all to yourselves, are you? Of course who would blame you if you were." Zevran's eyes lingered on Moira's, although he did not miss the dried blood spots on her drakeskin armor as he smiled.

Moira leaned against the bar and remained silent. An amused smirk graced her lips as she observed her companions. She could tell by their reactions that they had, indeed, been hoping to monopolize her evening.

"Erm, sure, if it's alright with the Warden Commander." Bryan answered after receiving nods from his fellows.

Zevran feigned a look of surprise. "Warden Commander?" Zevran took a step back and gazed at Moira once more with a more critical stare. "Surely you jest! This isn't _the _Warden Commander is it? This lady is too beautiful to be the Warden Commander of Ferelden. That one is a giant, tough as a dragon and just as mean. I've heard she can freeze a man's heart with a glance." He paused for effect. "A look from this woman here is more fit for melting hearts than for turning them to ice." Zevran gave Moira an appraising look, winking when her smile broadened.

"Yes it is. She's here on important Warden business." A soldier offered.

"Fascinating!" He turned his attention to her. "And what is your important Warden business, Commander? Recruiting new hearts and minds to the Warden cause?" Zevran looked over the ring of soldiers surrounding Moira. Over the rim of his cup he said. "You've clearly succeeded in winning the hearts if not the minds of a few young men already."

Neither Moira nor Zevran missed the rise of color in the men's faces. Moira wanted to laugh out loud at Zevran's game. "My business is my own friend, but you're welcome to join us."

Bryan and the other two guards looked a little disappointed but accepted Zevran into their little circle.

"Ah, so there is room for one more in the competition for your affections." Zevran's eyes twinkled.

Moira raised her mug. "May the best man win."

As the evening progressed it quickly became a game of one-up-manship over who could tell the more outrageous story or humorous joke. Zevran took every opportunity to use innuendo in his stories and answers, quickly having everyone wary of what came out of their mouths. Several of his retorts found Moira tearing up from laughter. More guards had arrived earlier and joined in the drinking game that had come about from Zevran's incessant teasing. Every time someone slipped up and got caught without a ready come back they had to buy a round for everyone.

Bryan was trying his best to impress Moira and she could tell he was interested in her. Under other circumstances she might have pursued it. She didn't have a regular lover and didn't, in fact, have sex all that frequently. She preferred to have an occasional fling on her way through a place with someone who wasn't after bragging rights, wanting a relationship or after political influence. Moira started thinking back to the last time she'd found someone who fit the criteria.

_When was that? Ten months ago or so? What was his name again? He was the blacksmith…Ah, yes, Enric! _She remembered meeting with the man to negotiate repairs for her Warden's weapons and armor after a particularly fierce engagement with a large force of darkspawn in the lower Frostbacks. Enric was a stout and burly man who reminded her of a bull with his thick curly brown hair and heavy shoulders. _He'd been as stubborn as one too_.

After they had agreed upon a price and the Wardens had dropped off the pieces for repair she'd seen him later in the tavern. They'd spent a fair amount of time talking and she found herself liking what he had to say. She liked his honesty and forthrightness and found herself thinking that he was handsome enough in a tough, earthy kind of way. She'd indicated her interest and before the moon had reached its peak was being thrusted on the anvil in his shop. It was rough, simple and extremely satisfying. It was made more so by the warm iron beneath her buttocks, his heavy hands on her thighs, and the heat from the forge. Afterwards, Moira had taken to checking on the repairs every evening before she and the other Wardens had headed home.

Moira was pulled out of her erotic reverie when she heard Zevran and Bryan making a wager.

"You're too clever with that tongue of yours Master Arainai. You haven't had to buy a round yet! Let's see how quick you are with your hands." Bryan was starting to look a little tipsy. The men next to him snickered; waiting to see if Zevran would take the wager.

"I am, indeed, very clever with my tongue and with my hands. Alas only a small portion of my talents with these are fit for public display. Are you looking to see if you measure up to my stature?" The men around them roared with laughter as Bryan blushed a furious color of red.

Bryan caught Moira looking him over with a sly grin. "That-er-wasn't what I meant!" Bryan flustered under her glance.

"I propose a game." Bryan took a silver from his belt pouch. "All you need to do is snatch this from my hand before it closes. If you lose you buy the entire tavern a round." The men hooted some more. Many had played this game with Bryan before and lost.

Zevran gave a cocky grin. "And when I win?"

Bryan thought about it a minute. "You win 1 sovereign."

Zevran laughed before clasping the man on the shoulder. "I don't want to take your money, my friend. If I win, I get to steal the Warden Commander away."

Bryan looked over to Moira who, smiling, shrugged. "Okay then."

The two men squared off and Bryan placed the coin in his palm. Zevran, who was clearly enjoying himself, nodded that he was ready. In a blur of hands the game began and ended. Bryan opened his hand to find it empty. A wave of laughter and sympathetic words flowed around him. Bryan looked sheepish as Zevran presented him his coin.

"No worries my friend, I can well understand your desire to not part with the lady's company." Zevran smiled broadly and called for the barkeep to serve another round, "To the city guard and their drinking stamina." The cheers throughout the tavern helped take some of the sting from Bryan's face.

Moira finished her drink and stepped away from the bar to the protests of many of the patrons. "Thanks for a great evening but I think I'll go with this elf and see what he has to say." Moira grinned suggestively at the catcalls of a guard or two.

When Moira and Zevran were out of earshot she smiled at Zevran and said, "And what interesting things do you have to say old friend?"

"That depends, do you wish to hear interesting things about intrigue or pleasure?" Zevran gave her a look in the darkness. "Follow me."

Zevran led her though a series of twists and turns, along canals, and over bridges until they approached a two-story house in a more upscale part of town. The house was like many others in its stucco coating and beautiful windows. Moira did notice it had no balconies, unlike most of the other houses next to it. The house was framed on one side by a tall wall and shared a side with another house.

The flat stone steps led up to an ornate door that Zevran opened with a key.

"This is your house?" Moira asked.

Zevran grinned. "Yes. This is _la casa de Arainai_."

He led her deeper into the house to a set of stairs. Moira found his home was well furnished with a simple but elegant style. He opened the door to a room containing a bed, chest, and vanity. He leaned against the doorframe once Moira was inside. She was pleased to see her pack waiting on the bed.

"If the bed is to too uncomfortable, mine is just down the hall." He gave her a sultry look and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Or maybe we should try your bed first."

"You mean you haven't broke this bed in yet?" Moira gave him a lopsided grin. Her look said she doubted that very much.

Zevran chuckled. "Not with you, I haven't."

Zevran had wanted to show Moira the extent of his feelings for many years. In the time they had spent traveling Ferelden, rallying an army, it had seemed she was just out of reach. She had been involved with Alistair and Zevran had come to find out that she was in love with the man. Alistair's angry words during the Landsmeet had hurt Moira, when he had stormed out of their lives it had broken her heart. She had said nothing, but he knew she was hurting. Even though his feelings for her had gone beyond those one would normally have for a friend he had given her the time and space she needed. He had hoped that when the time was right he would be able to tell her, in his own way, that he cared for her. But that had never happened. She had poured herself into the destruction of the darkspawn and rebuilding the Grey Wardens and he'd stayed, supporting her efforts. When they had gotten the Wardens on their feet again he'd decided it was time to leave. He'd planned to only be gone long enough to resolve his issues with the Crows before returning to her. Unfortunately life had another plan and all the words he'd wanted to say to her had fallen to the wayside.

He'd gone to Ferelden from time to time to expand opportunities for the Crows but had never been able to see her for more than a day if she was in Amaranthine. Even so, their friendship had endured and she was here now…with him.

Moira cocked her head to one side, her face softening. _Not with me?_ It was late and Moira was tired of games. On the morrow she'd have to be a Warden Commander but tonight, tonight she was a woman. A woman who knew what she wanted.

"Then maybe you should come here and we'll test its durability." The space between them constricted and Moira could feel the attraction resonate in the room.

Zevran quirked an eyebrow, closed the distance between them and took her upper arms in his hands, his eyes flickering over her face. There was no hesitation in her eyes and they met in a kiss that was urgent and fueled with long denied desires. Moira pushed her tongue deep into his mouth and bit at his lips as she wrapped her arms around the sleek assassin. She wanted to feel his body against hers, now made awkward by their armor and weapons.

Breath, lips, and tongues met and collided as they worked together to free themselves from their everyday impediments until their armor lay in a heap at their feet. Yanking the tunics and breeches from each other and themselves until they met in a press of naked flesh. Moira was breathing hard and her body was on fire wanting him to touch her. She ran her hands over his back and neck, pulling him to her, devouring him. Zevran pressed her to him with strong arms, impressing the feel of her breasts and the heat from her body onto the front of him. Together they found the bed and ran anxious hands over each other. Moira was eager, ready and Zevran was not abject to giving her want she wanted.

He rolled her on top of him and she easily straddled him. She was sucking on his earlobe when she pushed him into her causing a moan to escape them both. Moira sat up, running her hands over the smooth skin of his chest until they were resting on the lower portion of his ribs. Her face was full of pleasurable enjoyment and it made his ardor flare. Zevran cupped her breasts, running his thumbs over her erect nipples pleased when she shivered and bit her lower lip. He ran them further down the curves of her torso until the flare of her hips was in his hands. With a gentle but insistent shove he rubbed her against him.

Moira tingled with the motion and knew that she wasn't going to be able to stave off the inevitable for long. In a few thrusts Zevran felt her thighs tighten and saw her face contort into ecstasy even as she moaned her release. He gave a sensually wicked grin. While she may have reached completion, he was just getting started.

A few hours, and positions later, Moira lay spent on sheets damp with sweat. She laid her head on Zevran's shoulder and he put an arm around her even as they started drifting into sleep. For the first time in longer than Moira cared to think about she closed her eyes to find only darkness.

* * *

Moira woke up alone. She gave a fitful stretch before rolling out of bed. Someone had brought a basin of water and she wondered if Zevran had someone working for him.

_He's a busy man. Surely he doesn't have time to keep up his own house._

Moira washed up and changed into the clean set of clothes in her pack. Picking up her leathers and cotton clothes she frowned at them. She was going to have to clean them before she did anything else today.

_Food first. I'm starving._

The bundle under arm she headed downstairs to find the kitchen. Upon entering she saw a pretty blonde woman pulling out a loaf of fresh bread. The woman turned and smiled in her direction.

"Master Arainai said we had company." The woman spied the bundle. "You need those washed? Leave them over there." She pointed to a basket after setting the loaf down.

Moira dropped her cotton clothes in it but separated her leathers. Drakeskin needed little upkeep other than cleaning and the rare repair but Moira liked to rub it with an unguent that helped to keep it supple and kept it from chafing in the creases.

"Thanks." Moira watched the woman bustle around the kitchen. She was dwarven and very womanly. _Those eyes are the color of the sky._ She wondered if she were a transplant from Orzammar or was born on the surface.

Moira eyed the bread before asking. "Do you mind if I take some of that?"

The other woman gave a laugh. "Help yourself! There will be more in a bit."

Moira tore a chunk off and chewed it. "Do you know where Master Arainai is?"

The dwarf gave Moira a knowing smirk. "I suspect he's in the courtyard out back. Just go down the hall to the last door."

Moira tore off another chunk of the delicious bread before picking her leathers up and heading out.

In the courtyard she found Zevran practicing forms. He was bare to the waist and barefoot in the cool midmorning sun. Moira shivered slightly at the change in temperature and the fact that she was minus a layer. She wondered if he did this even in the coldest part of winter and if the practice was some sort of exercise the Crows had devised to harden their assassins against the elements.

She dropped her armor and leaned against the wall watching him. The sun played tricks with the lean lines of his body as he moved across the stones. The wall was warming her back and it felt good as she ate. Zevran went through the forms slowly and with purpose, clearly concentrating. Moira looked over the small courtyard. It was walled off and there wasn't much in it now except a weapons rack. She guessed that he's set that up before starting. It wasn't weather-beaten and currently held an assortment of weapons, both wooden and otherwise.

She went and inspected it. Noticing two sets of wooden swords she picked out a pair for each of them. When she turned he'd stopped and was watching her.

"Care to spar a little?" She grinned running her eyes over his torso.

Zevran smiled widely. "Are you sure this is the sparring you have in mind?" He raked her with his eyes, taking in the way the clothes hugged her body and outlined its curves.

He set his swords in the rack.

Moira tested out the weight and balance of the wooden weapons in her hand before facing Zevran. She smiled to see he was doing the same.

"Ready?" She asked.

"Always."

They started off slow, attacking and countering in well rehearsed motions. After they both felt comfortable and warmed up the real practice began. It started off friendly enough but before long the near misses and hits began to fire the flames of competition and they set after each other in earnest. Thirty minutes of heavy combat later they were face-to-face panting and sweating. A long moment passed between them while they locked eyes before the swords clattered to the ground and they were in each other's arms.

His mouth on hers he drove her back to the wall and started pushing her trousers off. She fumbled with the drawstring of his. He wrapped her legs around his waist and in a moment they were connected at lips and hips.

When it was over they both sat slumped against the wall. Moira turned her head to look at Zevran. "If this keeps up neither of us is going to get anything done."

He smiled and laughed a little breathlessly. "True enough." Standing he offered her his hand and pulled her to her feet.

They sat at the long wooden table in kitchen eating a breakfast of bread, preserves, and cheese conferring about the day before. The dwarven woman whose name turned out to be Ualla left them to handle Moira's laundry.

Zevran told her that he'd spoken with Madame Meme about what had transpired while she had slept. Meme wasn't very happy about the situation and had promised to look into it. Many important people frequented her establishment and it was bad for business if attempts were made on clients' lives, especially if it could be attached to someone who worked for her. He needed to talk to her to see what she'd uncovered.

When he'd left Moira in front of the former Guildmaster's house he'd met with some people who were known to have information others didn't. Many of whom owed him various personal favors. He'd been on his way back to Roihden's Gold when a fellow Crow had caught up with him and told him he was needed at the Guildhall. A hit had gone wrong and had ended badly for the Crows sent to handle the job. He'd also had to deal with a belligerent client who wanted a contract canceled and his money back. Zevran had rubbed his forehead while he spoke about it. Moira got the impression that there was a lot he left out. She suspected that his days were just as wrapped up in the day-to-day business as hers were when she was at Vigil's Keep.

"Because the mission was botched it will demand punishment be meted out and retribution be put into motion." He'd grinned then. "I sometimes long for the days when all I had to worry about was who I had to kill and who was coming to bed with me."

When it was her turn to share she recounted the experience in the alley. He turned to her with a grin. "Perhaps your friend Seras will find his manhood in the Fade. How unmerciful of you my friend." Zevran made a horrified face and they both laughed.

While Moira wasn't as unapologetic about killing as Zevran, she'd done a considerable amount in her travels. Sometimes it was warranted, sometimes she was thrust into the situation, and others…well other times it was just because it had to be done. She tried not to think about it and made an effort to deal with what couldn't be forgotten.

Moira shrugged. "Good luck to him then." She said as she finished her tea. Looking into the mug she started thinking. _I will have to find a place to pick up more sleeping draught._

As if reading her thoughts Zevran put his hand over hers and looked her in the eyes. "How long have you been taking that sleeping potion?"

Moira's face went blank and she looked down. "Three years."

He squeezed her hand lightly. "You do know its addictive, yes?"

Moira looked up at him. "I know, but I didn't need it last night did I?" She gave him a playful smile.

"No, you did not. But you don't have me to wear you out every night do you." Zevran schooled his face to conceal his concern for her.

"Moira," He paused and cleared his throat, not knowing how she would react to the question. "Why did you start taking them?"

Moira stood and backed away. "I couldn't take the dreams anymore Zevran." She brushed the hair from her eyes, her face pained and angry. "I couldn't take _him_ watching me, judging me, disapproving. After all these years, after what he _did_, it's come back to haunt my dreams. Dreaming about the darkspawn is bad enough but having Alistair _laugh_ while they cut me down is too much."

She paced back and forth before stopping. "And…the images from that cave at Drakon won't go away. He's there too, naming me murderer." She looked to Zevran. "It was too much, I couldn't do my job effectively anymore. I needed something to push those thoughts away in the night."

Zevran's face was neutral when he answered. "What other choice was there for those women Moira? We couldn't salvage them all. _You_ did the best you could at the time."

Moira gave him an angry look. "Did I Zevran? Did I? If he'd been there, instead of running away like a spoiled child, he might have known some way to help them. How many times did we find those underground pockets? He would have been there to beat the bastards back from the Bannorn, how many soldiers could he have saved with his Templar abilities?"

Mages had been in very short supply during the fighting and the darkspawn Emissaries had decimated whole battalions with their spells. Hundreds had fallen because the allied armies had little to no way to counter them. The Templars of the Circle had refused to send aid, more concerned with a few mages in a broken tower than helping to save the land.

Zevran had come to the conclusion that too much lyrium in non-mages retarded judgment_._ To Zevran's mind it seemed a little misplaced to blame Alistair but he couldn't argue that he and Moira could have used his help on numerous occasions.

She sat down and took a deep breath, rubbing the mug between her hands. Zevran looked at her for a long moment. "300 sovereigns amore and a promise that you will send for me if you need me." He did not tell her that he would sweeten the deal from his own coin.

Her eyes widened, shifting between blue and green. She grew still while she studied him. Zevran had no love for the former Templar but he didn't hate him either. He thought Alistair a fool for turning his back on this woman's love and a coward for leaving her to fight the Blight alone but he didn't hate him. Zevran suspected that her hurt went a lot deeper than Alistair's failure to fulfill his duty, however. Alistair had hurt her personally and he didn't think she'd ever forgive Alistair that trespass.

"I'll start drawing up the contract later. You will leave me with the funds and I will take care them as well. But I need to know how you want to handle delivery."

Moira's aqua eyes looked as stormy as the sea. "Send a letter once he's found with a rough time frame for delivery. I want to be there if possible. Can a Crow stay with him until I get there if I'm in the field?"

Zevran replied. "Within a reasonable time allotment."

Moira beamed and reached across the table to embrace him before disappearing from the room.

_I hope you know what you're doing amore. Not all wounds can be cauterized, some are never meant to heal._

She returned a short time later with a signed promissory note. Zevran looked it over before folding it in half and secreting it away. Moira had started cleaning her armor and he watched her for a long time.


	8. Memories Never Fade

**Chapter 8**

_Special__ thank you's to everyone who has put this story on their favorites and alerts list. It gives me that "squee" feeling every time I get an email about it. A big thank you to __Artemys__ who has taken time out of her busy life to review every chapter thus far and whose comments prove most helpful. Thank you to everyone who's taken time to review…it's just awesome! I'd also like to welcome aboard my new beta reader __brownc0at__ who's agreed to help with this craziness._

_My apologies that it's taken so long to get this chapter out. Like most parents out there, I've been dealing with the first weeks of the new school year. I've also had a cold and it's hard to feel inspired when you can't see over the pile of tissue in your lap and there is a ten__-__ton weigh sitting on your brain._

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* * *

_

Moira and Zevran walked across the smooth, flat stones of the market square after leaving Roihden's Gold. The talk with Madame Meme had not yielded the results Zevran had hoped for. According to Meme, none of her staff had been in Moira's room while she wasn't occupying it, nor had anyone seen anything. During the conversation, Moira had been surprised to learn that Zevran had Crows planted at the brothel to ensure a certain level of protection for its various clients. Zevran had spoken to each and had come up with a similar story. No one had seen anything amiss. Moira found the whole situation quite disconcerting. The Crows were the best at what they did; it would take an impressive level of skill to get by all of them.

"Do you really believe that no one saw or knows anything?" Moira asked Zevran as they walked.

"It's entirely possible, my dear Warden. My opponent is most worthy, and we Crows do have a certain reputation, no? A slip through a window, a search of the area, a clever knowledge of herbs and poisons…." He shrugged. "We'll see what some of my other sources have to offer."

Moira stopped in front of the fountain, dipping her hands and wetting her face. She felt a little feverish, and her skin was crawling uncomfortably.

"Feeling alright?" Zevran asked after watching her a minute.

Moira looked at the centerpiece of the fountain while answering. "Yeah, maybe just coming down with something." She glanced to Zevran and gave a feeble smile.

Zevran made a tisking sound. "Then, perhaps we should conclude our business and get you back into bed?"

Moira grinned broadly at him. "Already making plans to take advantage of me in a weakened state?"

Zevran tried to look hurt. "Oh, how your words wound, my friend. Even if they are entirely true."

After sharing a laugh, they headed in the direction of the harbor.

Captain Galin rushed to meet her as she climbed the gangplank. He looked both nervous and excited and barely gave her the opportunity to get aboard before starting.

"Warden." He smiled broadly. "Seems you're a popular lady. I have missives here from several of the noble houses of Antiva. One even from the podesta of the city himself!"

He started leading her down to his cabin. He explained that the missives had started coming in late the prior afternoon and hadn't stopped. The considerable traffic of runners to his ship had started to catch the attention of some of the other captains and a few merchants. Galin anticipated that this newfound attention could be good for business if he played it right.

He opened the door and he gestured for Moira to enter first. Beaming, he handed her a pile of parchments. "Would you like to look them over here?" he offered.

"If you don't mind, Captain." Moira glanced at the door to indicate that she'd prefer some privacy. Galin caught the meaning and excused himself.

Moira took a letter opener from his desk and made short work of the seals. While scanning the papers, she inwardly reflected that there had been a time when she'd been unable to read at all. Education in the alienages wasn't a priority, and when Duncan had recruited her she'd barely known her letters. The mage, Wynne, had taught her on their travels. The elder mage had loved books and had been more than willing to teach her to read and write.

_Good thing, too; being Warden Commander would be a sight more difficult if I still couldn't read._

Most of the letters were those of welcome and invitations to enjoy the hospitality of such-and-such noble house._ Politics, gah!_

Moira had been trying for the last several years to get away from the politics of Ferelden. She'd had a conversation with Queen Anora some years back about handing the arling of Amaranthine back to the children of Rendon Howe. Anora had agreed after hearing Moira's motives for the change. The arling had been given back to the Howe family after a lengthy investigation to prove they had no involvement in their father's traitorous plans during the Blight. This had helped Moira avoid lengthy stays in Denerim and the politics of the Landsmeet. The Grey Wardens had more important things to attend to than petty bickering.

Moira had also been trying to get the Ferelden Wardens on neutral political territory as they were meant to be. Grey Wardens meddling in Ferelden's politics had gotten them evicted from the country in the first place. She was determined to see that didn't happen again. Unfortunately, that goal was difficult because she herself was a political figure.

It annoyed Moira that she still had to go in front of the Landsmeet and remind the nobles that the darkspawn hadn't disappeared completely. That while the raids happened less and less in the Bannorn itself, the darkspawn were still a scourge, and the Wardens required support from the entire Landsmeet. It made her angry how short their memories were becoming now that the land had mostly healed itself, starvation wasn't as large of a threat, and communities were recovering. Everyone wanted to forget.

Moira rolled all the parchments into one and made to leave. She'd go over these with Zevran, who had a better lay of the political landscape, before responding. Grimacing, Moira massaged her forehead, feeling a headache building.

Moira was leaning against the railing of the Cloud Dancer's deck and watching Zevran. He was in the distance, talking with someone on the dock, when Galin took up a spot next to her.

"Get everything you needed, Warden?" he asked, eyeing the roll in her hand.

"Yes, thank you. There might be more of these coming here. Can you keep accepting them for me?"

"Of course, of course!" He looked pleased to be entrusted with papers for the Warden Commander.

Moira thought a moment before asking. "Was there anyone asking after me when I left the boat, Captain?"

He looked thoughtful before answering. "I don't think so. Want that I ask the crew?"

_How likely is it that the person who tried for Zevran's life had time to talk to anyone here?_

"No, I just wondered." Moira turned her attention back to the docks, waiting for Zevran to finish his conversation.

Galin followed her gaze, swallowed, and said, "That the friend you were meeting?"

Moira gave a small smile. "Yes."

"You do know he's master of the Crows, I assume, a position with a lot of political clout in this city. He might be able to help you with your business," Galin offered.

Seeing that Zevran had finished and was scanning the docks, she turned to leave. "He just might. Thanks, Galin; I'll check back tomorrow."

Galin watched Moira cross the docks and join Master Arainai, who appeared to be waiting for her. As the pair made their away across the crowded docks, he wondered again at the nature of their relationship.

Moira and Zevran sat in a corner of a tavern off the market square, looking over the papers she'd picked up from the Cloud Dancer. Moira turned her tankard on the table, feeling queasy. The feverish feeling from earlier hadn't abated. Her joints were starting to ache and throbbed in time with the headache she was nursing.

Grinning, Zevran turned one of the letters to face her. "Did you read this?" he asked.

"Honestly? I just skimmed most of them." Moira went to take a drink but found she couldn't.

Zevran's honey colored eyes lit up. "Oh, then I must enlighten you, my friend. It reads, _My warmest regards, Warden Commander Tabris. It has come to my attention that you grace our fair city with your beauty and charm. Your exploits in defeating the Blight are well known to me, having followed the tales of your adventures for many years now. I must admit that I am intrigued to meet the woman responsible for them. It would be a refreshing change to have the opportunity to enjoy the company of a woman of action. It would be an honor if you would consider staying in my house for the duration of your stay and consider, also, a proposal to unite House Santiago with the Grey Wardens of Ferelden. Affectionately yours, Aldolpho Santiago._"

Zevran was working hard to control his mirth. "You are of a mind to get married, yes?"

Moira scowled back. "That's one for the fire pit."

"What? You mean you don't wish to take up his offer and enjoy the prestige of a minor house whose fortune comes from clearing the streets and factories of _basura_?" He looked shocked.

"This Aldolpho is a nice enough young man, I hear. Handsome, eager and willing to please. Just perfect for an older, how shall we say, more experienced woman to break in." Zevran's amusement was palatable.

Moira's face darkened even more. "Keep going that way, Zevran Arainai, and I'll bring the Right of Conscription down on you."

Zevran laughed outright at that. "I like me alive, thank you. And what is more, you like me alive entirely too much to be without my considerable talents." He flashed an infuriatingly perfect smile.

Moira tried to put an impassive face on before replying. "I believe you offered to clean armor once. Yes, I could use another hand in the armory. Maybe after a long day of darkspawn killing you can clean the offal from my boots." The delivery came out flatter than she intended. The sheen of sweat on her back and her increasing discomfort wasn't doing much for her sense of humor.

Zevran ran his eyes over Moira, noting her pallor and the light sheen of sweat at her hairline. Zevran glanced down to her hand and saw the small tremor in it. _Good, the drugs are leaving her system. Let us see how she deals with withdrawal._

He wanted to find out how bad the problem was before determining whether he could help her. During his childhood in the whorehouse, he had seen many consumed by their addictions and did not wish to see her share the same fate.

He went back to reading the papers. After pulling out the one from the _podesta_, he said, "This one you should reply to. Accept an offer of hospitality from the _podesta_, or Lord Mayor, if you prefer. You can work on getting support for that fort." He took a sip from his wine glass and smiled.

"I'd rather keep enjoying your hospitality," Moira grumbled. _He's got a point. I can start to work on that fort idea and see if this Lord Mayor can put me in contact with any local Wardens._

Zevran arched his eyebrows. "Really? Why ever would that be?" His lips formed into a smirk.

"Because I'd rather stay with a friend than some idiot noble politician." Moira didn't tell him it was also because she had missed him and was in no hurry to leave his company.

"Ah, I see. And enjoying the hospitality of the Master of Crows doesn't have political implications?"

Moira shrugged. "Let them think what they want."

Zevran chuckled before going for a quill, ink, and wax. Moira flexed her hand in an attempt to still its trembling as she wrote responses to the various noble houses of Antiva. When she had finished and stamped her seal on each of them, she sat back and rubbed a hand over her tired eyes.

"Now, where do I find someone to deliver these?" Moira waved a hand at the papers.

Zevran leaned back farther into his chair. Propping an elbow on the top, he made a small movement with his hand. A nondescript man hurried over from the bar to lean down while Zevran whispered into his ear. The man nodded before gathering the papers together and heading for the door.

When his attention returned to Moira, he gave her a casual look before quirking an eyebrow. Moira knew she had a semi-stunned expression on and couldn't help but wonder how long they had been followed.

"What?" He made a show of straightening his leather gloves. "I'm an important man, mi amore. My bodyguards are just more subtle than others."

"Do they follow you everywhere you go?" Moira crossed her arms across her chest.

"Are you asking, perhaps, if someone other than me heard you screaming my name last eve?" Zevran leered at her wickedly even as she felt the color rise in her cheeks.

"Rest assured, my dearest Warden, your reputation of being unconquerable is only slightly blemished. It is to be expected that you would succumb to the undeniable charms of Zevran Arainai, the greatest lover in all of Antiva!" Zevran leapt from his chair, barely dodging the wadded up proposal Moira threw at him.

His amusement at her discomfort just spurned him on. "You Fereldens are such sticks when it comes to talking about sex. Did you not just say to let them think what they want?"

"You, Ser, are terrible!" Moira huffed, standing.

Zevran took her hand and brought it to his lips. "But I'm so terribly good, no?" He shot her a wide smile over her gloved knuckles as she smirked.

_Can't argue with that… not that I will inflate his ego even more by admitting it out loud._

When they were outside, Moira said, "I feel terrible Zev. Any chance we can head back so I can lay down for awhile?"

Zevran ran careful eyes over her and had to agree that she wasn't looking well. "Unfortunately, I must go and do that unpleasant thing called work. I will have Almara see you back. Try to rest, my friend. I will be there shortly."

He flashed a smile as a woman melted from the shadow of the building and joined them.

"Almara, would you be so kind as to escort my guest _a mi casa_?" Zevran asked the tanned woman.

Almara gave Zevran a crossed arm bow before waiting for Moira to follow her. In an effort to distract herself from the feelings of sickness, Moira concentrated on her guide. Almara moved with an easy feline grace that went well with her dark looks. She was very attractive, with her raven hair and wide set dark green eyes. Her lips were full and seductive, and the way she held them made them look kissable. Her body was lithe and curvy, the leathers she wore just accentuating them. It wasn't hard for Moira to imagine how the Crow used those looks in her trade.

Smiling to herself, she also wondered if Zevran was making use of those looks. She had known him too long to not know how his tastes ran.

"Have you been part of Master Arainai's bodyguard for long?" Moira asked, curious as to what the other woman would say.

Almara glanced her way before answering. "Yes, Zevran raised me to this position shortly after I completed my apprentice training. He's been teaching me to become a master."

Moira smirked inwardly at the informal use of Zevran's name and the slight tilt Almara had put on her answer. _I bet he's been teaching you personally the many tricks of the trade._

"He always did like to be surrounded by beautiful things," Moira said impassively, testing the depth of Almara's involvement with Zevran.

The scowl that crossed Almara's face was so brief Moira wouldn't have caught it if she had not been looking for a reaction.

"Some beautiful things are also dangerous." Almara gave Moira an assessing once over. "And fleeting."

Moira's eyebrows climbed higher, and she chuckled. "Easy, young Crow, lest you clip your own wings."

Almara's beautiful face darkened, but she said nothing more. Moira found the situation most amusing and wondered how long this young woman had been a favorite of Zevran's. She also found the hint of jealousy interesting and worth investigating.

The two women walked in silence the rest of the way to Zevran's home. Almara gave Moira a truncated bow in the front and turned to go. Moira watched the woman stride down the street and disappear between the rows of house before entering the house.

Ualla must have heard the door, as she stuck her head out of the kitchen. "Welcome back! Need anything?" The dwarven woman smiled prettily.

"No thanks, I'm just going to go up to my room for awhile." Moira smiled back and headed up the stairs.

Moira shed her clothes and slid into the comfort of sheets and blankets, glad to take the strain off her aching body for a while. She pulled the blankets up to her chin and closed her eyes. Her skin crawled as she slipped into the Fade.

**Flashes of a monstrous shape looming over her as she struggled for more than just her life. Heat that seared more than flesh bathing and blinding her. A hideous roar and then a force hitting her so hard she nearly blacked out. Vice-like pressure against her entire body made the world spin and finally slip from her grasp. Her last moments with the Archdemon flitted across her memory. When did that happen, she wondered, just now? Was she dead?

Moira stood in a green field, the tall stalks waving around her with their golden tips swaying in the breeze. She looked over the sea of grass that stretched far into the distance, empty save for her. The sun warmed her skin, and the air was filled with the sounds of insects buzzing and the whisper of the grasses rubbing against each other. It was profoundly peaceful, and her soul felt quiet and at rest. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sounds of silence. Why did it feel as if this was the first time she had been able to achieve this sense of serenity and peace? What was that weight that she carried for so long, and why could she not remember it now that it had been lifted from her shoulders?

She felt the heat before she heard it; the air raged in an inferno of flame that blasted over her. Fear made her heart pound and pulse race. Moira opened her eyes to find the field gone. She now stood in a bleak, distorted landscape. The very air shimmered and rippled as it did when the summers were sweltering and the heat would cause illusions in the close confines of the alienage. Twisted earthen columns rose into the air, surrounding a barren opening where a pair of spirits stood waiting. She looked down to see her armor torn and punctured. It was awash in blood…was that her blood? She couldn't remember. Her face was wet and did not feel right. She touched it only to find her skin broken and flowing with blood.

Confusion played across her mind as Moira approached the transparent entities. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, armed and armored, imposing in their silence.

"We are the spirits of Duty and Sacrifice; we cannot let you pass," the spirit she thought was Sacrifice said.

"Moira Tabris," Duty spoke, "your purpose is not yet completed. You will go back and finish that which has been put into motion. The Archdemon lives still; you cannot allow it to escape. All the world shall be consumed should you fail to fulfill your duty."

Her memories came crashing in on her, and she now knew she stood on the brink of the Fade. A profound sense of loss washed over her. The memory of the field and the feelings it invoked were fresh in her mind.

Moira hung her head. "I don't want to go back. Let Loghain deal with the Archdemon; let him walk the final miles."

"And if he falls, Grey Warden?" Duty asked.

"There is still Alistair. He can...he…" Moira trailed off.

"Does he stand with you now, Grey Warden? Alistair has abandoned duty and chosen a different path," Duty reminded her.

It was true. With Riorden dead and Alistair's whereabouts unknown, only she and Loghain were left to end the Blight on the top of Fort Drakon.

Sacrifice spoke. "Living is your sacrifice. Your life for the greater good, not in death but in life."

"Duty will not be denied, Grey Warden." The spirit of Duty drew its sword.

"I have done my duty. The allied armies are rallied and in the city. They are beating back the hordes of darkspawn. The Archdemon is wounded, even if Loghain fails…" Moira trailed off. She had no answer; if Loghain failed, there would be no Warden to slay the Archdemon. If the armies killed the Archdemon, its soul would seek out a new host and all the sacrifice would be for naught. She closed her eyes and felt a tear burning its way down her face before it slid into the open wound on her cheek.

Sacrifice put a hand on her shoulder. "Even now the future is not certain, Grey Warden. You _will_ go back and see this through. There is no other." The spirit withdrew a dagger.

"Will I never be given a rest? Can I never know peace?" Moira felt another tear slide down her bloodied cheek. The effort it had taken to unite Ferelden and the struggle to climb Drakon ground against her like a millstone.

"I'm so tired," she whispered. And, at that moment, she was tired. Tired of living, tired of fighting. If it were not for an instinctual feeling deep inside her that there was more to do, she would gladly just fade away.

"Rest is not for everyone. Some will never know it, even in death." Duty raised its blade.

Moira knew her path. She would go back, and she would do her duty. She straightened and squared her shoulders. Whatever awaited her on Drakon, whatever was waiting for her after, she would meet it and would not falter.

"We are sorry, daughter. Time grows short; we will deny the mage no longer." Sacrifice moved behind her.

Moira screamed as their blades pierced her body that was not her body but her soul. The pain was unlike anything she had felt before or since. It felt as though her soul was stretched so far it had begun to fragment. She felt it all. There was no escaping it. She was torn into a thousand pieces, her very essence ripped apart as she was thrust through the barrier of life and death.

As she passed through, she saw the many paths the future could take.

In one, she saw Alistair deflect the Archdemon's head with a bash from his shield, and she was spared the bite that would never leave her. Together, she, Alistair, and Loghain brought the demon down. Loghain made the killing blow, sacrificing himself and making atonement to the people he had nearly destroyed. She and Alistair rebuilt the Wardens and enjoyed many years of happiness together.

In another, she and Alistair stood alone and had to choose between them who would take the killing blow. Alistair forced his hand and sacrificed himself so that she could live. She rebuilt the Wardens alone, always missing and longing for the man she'd loved and lost.

Another path showed her a future where Alistair and Anora married and she was put to the side. She sacrificed herself to see Ferelden prosper. Alistair led the armies until Wardens from Orlais and other lands came. The order was rebuilt at Soldiers Peak with generous funding from the crown, and all the land flourished.

Other futures swam past her in a blur, hazy and distant. Many branches on a terrible, unknown tree.

The last possible future she saw as she was poured like molten lava into her broken body was the one in which they failed. Alistair had gone. She and Loghain lay crumpled beneath the Archdemon, two wretched heaps of useless flesh, the mages powerless to revive them. She watched in an otherworldly way as puddles of their own blood expanded outward until they met. The allied armies swarmed the tower, hacking the Archdemon to pieces only to find it reborn within the body of a Shriek. The Shriek morphed in a blaze of blue light into the Archdemon, whole once again. Ferelden burned, its peoples destroyed and the land blighted for a thousand years. The war against it raged for an Age, the Archdemon ravaging The Free Marches and most of Orlais before the Grey Wardens were able to stop it.

As Moira felt the burning tingle of the heal spell, she thought, _Ferelden dies because of the uncontrolled emotions of one man-child_. Hatred took seed in her heart.

With the aid of Wynne and First Enchanter Irving, Moira rose to her feet in time to see Loghain slice the Archdemon down the center, plunging his blade into the beast. In a blinding burst of light, she watched helplessly as both souls were destroyed for all of eternity.

Moira sagged from the arms that struggled to support her. _"In life…sacrifice,"_ she whispered before she gave into unconsciousness.

Moira woke to find her room dark, her body aching, and a trail of burning tears from the corners of her eyes down the sides of her face. With a shaking hand, she took the sheet and wiped them away. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm the emotions the memory always roused in her. Anger coursed in her veins, threatening to turn into rage. She wanted to destroy something, to give in to the urge to vent those feelings. The images of the world hanging by a thread were still vivid in her mind. Ferelden turned into the center of a festering wound, spewing forth a hundred thousand darkspawn to defile and destroy everything they came in contact with. All while Alistair hid in some corner, sulking in his own emotions.

She could have been spared all of it but for the selfishness of one man. She could have found peace, in life or in death. Moira flung the coverlet off, covering her face with her hands. She felt the weight of duty and sacrifice resting heavily on her soul. She sat wrestling with herself for a long moment, fighting the urge to weep. She wiped the remaining moisture from her face and looked at the chest containing her pack, desperately wishing for the herbs that were no longer there.


	9. Distractionary Tatics

Thank you to everyone who put my story on their favorites and story alerts. Getting those notifications always makes me feel good. Special thanks to **amanda weber **and **Artemys **for reviewing chapter. 8.

And we mustn't forget a thank you for brownc0at for beta reading and for being a good sounding board for potential ideas. THANK YOU!

* * *

Zevran walked from his office to the announcement hall with Moira's contract in hand. He'd added another 300 sovereigns to the deal and a weapons bonus for the Crow who took the contract and delivered. Moira had an extensive private collection of weapons and armor that she had collected over the years, and she'd given him some unique items the last time he'd visited her in Amaranthine. He didn't think she'd mind if he used one or two to encourage completion of the contract quickly.

He had to admit that her fixation with finding Alistair disturbed him.

_This, I don't like. Why is she looking for him now? She can't really think that killing him will help with her nightmares. _He didn't have the answer. He just hoped he could find out.

_You could have said no, _his reminded himself. He could have said no, probably should have said no. _So why didn't you? _

His internal speculations were interrupted as Master Baruch, the Crows' resident poison master, came from an adjoining doorway. Short, stocky and swarthy, the man looked better suited to being a sailor than an assassin. He was as bowlegged as any man Zevran had seen and walked like he was on a ship. Zevran had seen him training younger Crows and was surprised that Baruch was so light on his feet. His short stature and longish arms had given way to secret speculation that Baruch was part dwarf, although no one could prove it. The few times anyone had unwisely teased Baruch about it had led to mysterious illnesses, which eventually went away, but not without a fair amount of discomfort.

"Good evening, Master Arainai." Baruch smiled under his thick mustache. "I hear you are entertaining a special guest." Baruch fell into step with Zevran as they made their way down the hallways of the guild.

Zevran chuckled. "Yes, I have the pleasure of hosting a special guest on their visit to Antiva."

Baruch looked at him slyly. "The Warden Commander from Ferelden, then? Is she here on a personal visit, perhaps?" The guild was afire with talk of Zevran's adventures before returning to the Crows and speculation that he and the Warden were long time lovers. Baruch had always been a bit envious of the Antivan elf's charm and good looks as well as his abilities at seducing either gender. Baruch was curious if the rumors were true.

"Ah, my friend, if only it were a visit of a personal nature. But, alas, the Warden Commander has work for us." Zevran held up the announcement briefly.

Baruch's mustache twitched, and his bushy black eyebrows rose in surprise. "Really! And she came all this way to give _you_ the contract in person."

Zevran shrugged. "What can I say?" Zevran wasn't particularly shy talking about his personal exploits with his fellow Masters, and had done so in certain circumstances in the past. _But, it's different when there are feelings involved. _He wasn't going to talk about his personal activities with Moira to anyone else though.

Baruch gave a huff, hoping for more but seeing that it wasn't forthcoming. "I didn't think the Grey Wardens used assassination."

Zevran offered a sly grin. "She doesn't want us to kill someone for her; she can do that quite skillfully herself. She wants us to find someone."

Baruch's pale eyes sparkled. "How intriguing!" He eyed the contract. "What's the reward?"

Zevran gave a throaty laugh and clapped the other man on the shoulder. "Thinking of abandoning us and traveling the world in search?"

"I just might be. A job from a lady so renowned is almost too interesting to pass up." Baruch reached out with two fingers to take the contract before Zevran smoothly slipped it into his armor.

"Ah, ah, ah, my friend. You must wait like the others until it's posted before making your bid." Zevran's lips were curled in an amused grin.

"Come on Zevran, don't tease like that! A little peek between friends is all I'm asking." Baruch's face darkened in frustration.

"Patience, my friend, patience." Zevran continued down the hall alone, the sound of his laughter lingering behind him.

Almara met him as he entered the announcements hall. She watched in silence as he posted the announcement on the board.

Almara had been six when she was purchased by the Crows. A choice made by her parents out of desperation and starvation. She well remembered her parents discussing which of her seven brothers and sisters would be sold with her to keep the family housed and fed.

She had been chosen because she was a pretty little child, sure to attract attention and fetch a good price. The brothers who were chosen with her we also good looking and already showing signs of a good physical build. She had pretended to sleep while she listened to her parents argue between selling them to a brothel or to the Crows. In the end her mother's pleading decided that they would try the Crows first.

Almara remembered crying as she listened, confused and hurt. In the days that followed, she'd felt fear and trepidation each time she was to leave the house with her parents, afraid that the time had finally come. The feeling of betrayal at knowing she was to be sold weighed on her small heart. All the while, her parents treated her as they always had, never giving an indication of what they intended to do.

And then the day came. Her father had taken her and two of her brothers early one morning to the slave markets to look for representative for the Crows. She could still remember passing through the crowded aisles and staring in childlike wonder at the faces of the men, women, and children who were huddled together in filthy cages, awaiting their fate.

Master Verindle was watching the auction block when Almara's father had approached him. Verindle had seemed displeased at the intrusion, until her father told him why he'd interrupted. The Crows' slave master had taken her face in his calloused hands and turned it from side to side before roughly spinning her around and feeling the bones of her back, legs and arms. He did the same to her brothers before returning his attention to Almara's father.

Almara had seen flashes of gold change hands before her father left them with Master Verindle. She remembered staring at her father's back, afraid and sobbing, as he walked away without a word and without turning to look at them.

"Did you see the Warden Commander safely back?" Zevran asked her.

"Of course, Master Arainai." Almara gritted her teeth at the recollection of Moira's words. Almara did not appreciate being referred to as an object. She had worked tirelessly to rise within the ranks of the Crows, to prove she was the best. Now she studied with the Guildmaster himself, a position difficult to achieve and highly sought after.

Zevran studied her a long, hard moment. "You don't care for the Warden Commander's company?"

Almara shrugged. "It is not my place to determine whether I like her or not. You seem to enjoy her company, though."

Zevran's face softened a fraction, his honey colored eyes warming. "We've known one another a long time, the Warden Commander and I. There is much you could learn from her."

Almara's professional mask firmed a little more. Her body, face and eyes became more neutral. "As you say, Master Arainai."

Zevran frowned slightly, running his eyes over his apprentice's features. He was looking for a crack to read her. _She's become very good at hiding her feelings. It won't be long now before it will be necessary to advance her._ He wondered if something had happened between the two women; Almara was usually much warmer to him.

He gave her a charming smile. "Go and rest; you are off duty, if I recall correctly."

Almara's body shifted, and she looked at him from under dark lashes. "I am off duty. Will you be joining me in my quarters later?" She ran a hand lightly down the front of his chest piece.

He took her hand and gently removed it. "Not this evening, beautiful Almara. You will have to find another playmate for the night, no." He grinned at her. "I still have work to do, and the Warden Commander awaits." He watched her from behind his own mask and didn't miss the slightest sneer of disgust that passed across her features as he mentioned Moira.

_We will have to work on that jealous streak, _he thought as he watched her exit the hall. Zevran ran his eyes once more over the announcements, feeling satisfied with what he saw there. He headed back to his office to complete the last of the day's assignments before going home.

Moira stayed in her room until she had better control of her emotions. The few times she'd felt this way at Vigil's Keep she'd been able to throw herself into work to distract herself. She got out of bed and went to the chest, taking out the silk garment Zevran had given her. She took off her tunic, damp with the sweat of bad dreams and worse memories, and let the silken dress slip down her body. She unbraided her hair and brushed it out in loose waves before leaving the room. She walked down the dimly lit hallway to the only other door with light coming from beneath it. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw movement in the darker recesses of the hall. Moira stood still, her heart beginning to hammer in her chest. She was still wired from her dreams and fought the urge to take a fighting stance.

_There's nothing there; it's just your imagination._

Moira took a deep breath and peered again into the shadows. She forced her mind to put aside the many images that wanted to leap into existence, to focus on the truth of what she saw. The shadows were empty. The house was still as she listened to the small creaks and groans that every structure made at night.

She padded on bare feet the rest of the way to Zevran's door and knocked lightly on it.

"_Entra,_" came Zevran's voice from the other side.

Moira opened the door to find him dressed in a pair of trousers, stretched out in a chair, his feet propped on a stool in front of a low fire. It looked as though he was reading, the book propped by his side. She leaned against the door as it closed, her back arching slightly. He drank her in with his eyes, lingering at her breasts, where the fabric was stretched taunt by their fullness. A seductive smile played along his lips and in his eyes.

"Feeling any better, _querida_?" he asked in a low tone.

"No." Moira crossed the short distance between them until she was standing next to him. He placed a hand on her thigh and rubbed gently.

"I can't sleep, Zevran, I don't feel well, and tomorrow I will meet with the _podesta_. I cannot do that like this." Moira ran a hand down the side of his face, a hand that was shaking badly.

She felt the hand on her thigh tighten as he looked into her face. What he saw there she could not tell. She hoped he did not see the remnants of her nightmares or the emotional turmoil they caused. He removed his feet and sat up, moving Moira to stand between his legs.

"Nightmares?" he asked, his face unreadable and his eyes intense.

"It's more than that." She took a ragged breath. "It's not just a dream; it's a memory. It's the memory of my death, Zevran." _One bad memory amongst so many._

Something changed in his eyes, even as he slid his hands over her legs. "Moira, Wynne told you that you could not have died. As impressive as our fair Wynne was, even she didn't have that kind of magic."

"Was she there with me in the Fade? Could she be so certain?" she said coldly, angry he would doubt her. "I know what happened to me, and it was real."

Her hands were in his hair, and she tilted his head to look up at her. He could feel how hot her skin was through the thin garment.

"Perhaps the memory is an illusion, the byproduct of your injuries. You were badly hurt on Drakon, amora." And she had been.

He well recalled how shocked he'd been upon seeing her after the Archdemon fell. When he'd seen her covered in her own blood, the wounds bright red on her body, he'd wondered how she'd lived at all.

Moira's eyes darkened. She brought her face down to his. "You don't understand, Zevran. I was on the edge of the Fade, and I was pushed back into this world because I had no choice. Duty and Sacrifice demanded it. You of all people should understand the price I've paid to them."

He looked into her eyes, delving their depths, seeing that she believed what she said. _Not delusions brought on by the absence of herbs, then, but something very real to her. _

"We all pay a price, amora, for the things we do. You need to let the past go." He slid his hands beneath the edge of the dress and caressed his way upward.

The touch of his hands on her bare skin burned through the feelings of sickness, racing to her brain. He brushed his lips over hers, kneading her buttocks while pulling her closer to him.

She tried to back away from him, but he held her firmly. She was angry and upset. Angry that he didn't believe her or understand that she couldn't let the past go. He couldn't know how the past was there every time she closed her eyes. Upset that even though she was angry, she wanted him. Zevran knew she was angry and could guess at the reason, but he wasn't going to let her go.

"Is it so easy for you to forget all the people you've killed? Everything we've seen?" Moira asked him, glaring down into his face. "Don't you understand that I can't? I live it every day!" She pushed harder against his shoulders, but he did not let up the pressure on her lower back.

Zevran ran his hand up over her back, lightly touching the scars there. "I haven't forgotten, amora. In my training as a Crow I was taught to let it go. So many of the people I've killed deserved it for one reason or another. Just as many of the people you've killed needed killing."

He ran the hand around until he was brushing her breasts. He knew she was struggling to hold on to her anger under the touch of his hands. Her desire for the narcotics wasn't bad enough just yet for him to not be able to appeal to that part of her that wanted the human contact. It was something he knew she didn't get very often and craved just as she was starting to crave the sleeping draught. He cupped and massaged each of her breasts in turn and felt her body softening. While he relaxed his arm on her back, he didn't move it. He was ready to hold her still again if she tried to get away.

Moira's skin was tingling, and she ached for him to keep touching her. She felt so conflicted. She desperately wanted him to understand that she couldn't get away from the past. Part of her wanted to ask him for help. Help in making the demons of the past go away so that she didn't need the narcotics anymore. But she wouldn't ask. Her pride wouldn't let her. Some things were hers alone to bear.

She was so caught up in her thoughts of how she could make him understand and relent that she wasn't aware when his hands began tugging the fabric from her shoulders until she felt the warmth of his mouth on her torso. Her fingers tightened in his hair while he licked and kissed the path of scars that crossed her chest, following it down her abdomen to her thighs. The urge to give in and ask warred against the part that refused to be broken, all while his hands and mouth played havoc with her body. She was beginning to feel breathless as he slid a hand between her thighs and kissed her stomach. She gave a low moan and shuddered when he lightly touched her sensitive places.

Her anger melted away. Replacing it was a fire of another sort. "I hate that you can do this to me." And Moira did hate that he could so easily make her lose control of the situation, of herself.

She felt him smile against her skin. "Horrible, isn't it, amora?"

Moira pulled gently on his head, wanting him to stand. Zevran ran his hands up her as he did so. Wrapping his arms around her, he looked into her face and saw acquiescence there. Taking her lips with his, he tested her willingness. She responded readily, giving and taking in equal measures. Her fingers dug into the bare flesh of his back.

_Tonight, she yields. Tomorrow, when the cravings outweigh her desires, this might not work. If she decides to fight, I may have to bind her until the worst is over_. He would have to teach her a new way of dealing with the past.

Zevran picked Moira up and carried her to the bed, holding her under him with his weight. He kissed and nibbled on her ears and neck while he made himself as naked as she was. He brought their two bodies into one and began the slow climb towards completion. He tried to show her that he would only make her suffer because he cared.

Sleep was a long time in coming, and Zevran held Moira close until her breathing evened out. She shook in her sleep and twitched violently, occasionally mumbling things he didn't understand. He ran a soothing hand over her until she was still again.

_I'm sorry, amora. I'm sorry I didn't come back. _He curled closer into her, closing his eyes and drifting into sleep.

Moira was awakened by a series of unremembered bad dreams in the pre-dawn hours of the morning. She carefully moved Zevran's arm from on top of her and got out of the bed. The fire had burned down to coals, and the room was chilly. She went to one of the chests in the room and started looking for an extra blanket to cover herself with. Her fingers and hands didn't want to work properly, and she kept seeing the skittering of movement from the corners of her eyes. She finally found what she sought and pulled the comforter around her shoulders.

She opened the door and looked over her shoulder to where Zevran lay sleeping, a hand perched on his head. She felt haunted as she quietly left the room. Once in her own room, she tried building the fire back up. Her shaking hands kept dropping the smaller sticks onto the coals incorrectly, smothering any flame she could get going. Her frustration at being unable to control the trembling finally erupted when she threw the last piece of kindling into the fireplace, causing a scattering of red ashes, and walked away from it.

Moira dressed and gathered up her throwing knives and swords, thinking to make use of the courtyard and find an outlet for her frustration and restlessness. The air outside was bracing, and Moira wished for another layer to put on. It was nearing winter, and even though Antiva was warmer than Ferelden, Antiva City sat on the ocean. The ocean currents brought weather from other, cooler places to the shores of Antiva, causing the mornings to become chilly until the heat of the sun burned it away.

She set up a number of split logs on their ends in a circle, fighting to overcome the shivering that was caused by more than the air. She rolled a bigger, unsplit round into the center and set her knives and swords upon it. She stretched to loosen up muscles that were tight with unreleased tension in the purple first light of dawn.

Moira picked up three of the knives and set them sailing towards their targets, cringing each time she heard them clatter past into the dark. She tried again and missed. She had taught herself to throw instinctively, letting the knife fly without thinking. Moira hunted around until she found them all and returned to the center. She took aim and tried over and over. Her body would not obey her. Today it felt as though everything was an effort, and she couldn't concentrate.

Feeling frustrated and angry at her body's betrayal, she gathered up the knives a final time and let them rest on the stump. Moira picked up her short swords and went to practice forms with them. Thorn of the Dead Gods and Fang were the only swords she used; both had come into her possession during the Blight and felt like old friends now. She moved with slow purpose, practicing the forms and styles her mother had taught her before her death and the many others she'd learned across the years. Her arms quickly grew tired, and she struggled to wield the swords. Her whole body felt fatigued.

Images from her past kept creeping across her mind as she struggled with a body that didn't want to work properly and a mind that wouldn't focus. Battles with Broodmothers, Hespith, her wedding day, the Archdemon, the Fade, Alistair walking out of Eamon's study, countless battles across the Bannorn. They all flashed in short bursts across her memory, winning a war she normally only lost when she slept. Moira fought to push the memories away, to put them back where she kept them, the effort causing the frustrated anger to swell and rise to a boiling point. When the picture of Lillian's young face formed, looking up at her with hopeful eyes, Moira broke.

She slammed her swords into the stump, burying the ends of them, and screamed, venting the emotions that had been pent up and now overflowed. She screamed until she had no air left. Finally, she sagged to the ground, holding onto the hilts of her swords. She knelt, panting, and hung her head in exhaustion.

She heard the door behind her burst open, followed by the sound of boots on the stones. Moira turned her head to see a mostly bare Zevran, followed by several Crows, rushing into the courtyard, weapons in hand. The Crows spread out, checking rooftops and the wall that protected the courtyard, as Zevran approached her.

She didn't look up at him as she said quietly, "I can't do this, Zevran. I know what you're doing, and I can't."

Zevran knelt down next to her, saying in a lowered voice, "You can, my friend. It will be better once the aftereffects of the drugs are gone."

Moira looked at him, her eyes cool. "And what am I supposed to do until then, _my friend_? Meet with the _podesta_ a blasted half crazy wreck?" Moira started to wish she was back in Amaranthine. She'd have work to occupy her daytimes, access to the healer that made the herbs for her, and darkspawn to kill.

Zevran could see she was in bad shape and had to agree. She couldn't meet with the nobility in her current condition. He thought for a moment before coming up with a solution.

"Let us go inside before we catch a cold and have to spend the next several days in bed." He paused. "Although, perhaps we should walk slowly." He gave an infectious grin.

"You're not helping, Zevran." Moira scowled.

"No? Then you will be relieved to know I have a plan." He helped her to gather up her weapons and dismissed the members of his bodyguard standing in the courtyard. His eyes lingered on Almara as she climbed the wall, disappearing onto the top of it.


	10. Withdrawl

_Bioware's universe just exploring the planets._

_This chapter underwent revisions to make it more in line with what had come before it and to communicate more of what I really intended. _**This chapter contains descriptions of torture and rape and may not be suitable to some.**

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**Chapter 10**

Zevran led Moira to her room and laid her on the bed. Her skin was flushed with the pallor of sickness, her hairline slick with sweat as he stripped her and laid her back against the pillows. Her body was rigid and she trembled when he ran his hand down the outline of her arm.

"There amora, rest now." He scanned her face, noticing how her pupils had constricted and her jaw was tense. "I will return shortly with something to help."

Zevran would have preferred not to feed her addiction but it was severe and he could not wean her all at once. Moira was also right, she couldn't meet with the important people of his city in her current condition. Even if there was no immediate threat to her person, knowledge of her addiction could be just as dangerous to her reputation. The memory of Almara's face as she'd looked at Moira kneeling on the stones made him scowl. The young Crow had seen a weakness and her eyes had glinted with the knowledge.

Moira only nodded up at him before looking past him toward the ceiling of the room. The absence of the narcotics making itself felt in her entire person. The discomfort of her body accompanying the turmoil of her mind. Her body felt cold with fever, the uncomfortable scraping along the edges of her mind trying to tease open doors better left closed. She stared upward, her thoughts fixating on where she might find what she desired.

_Alex, Alex will know. _She gave a sidelong glance to see the assassin slip gracefully through the door. She struggled with thoughts of how she would make her escape from Zevran and find her way back to Roiden's Gold while the black dots in her vision started to look more and more like darkspawn. _They're not real, not real! _Moira gritted her teeth together harder grappling for control of her mind.

Even as she tried to stay awake listening for Zevran to leave the house, her body gave into fatigue and those doors sealing away unwanted memories began to open.

Zevran stood outside of Moira's door listening before opening it and checking in on her. His face creased as a deep frown spread across it. Crossing to the bed he looked down on the woman who was within. _What is this? _

Her eyes were rolled back into their sockets, showing nothing but white. She was sweating in earnest now and shaking. Moira moaned loudly at his approach and her hand was opening and closing reflexively. He wondered, as he looked at her, if the changes the Joining had made in her system were responsible for the violence of the withdrawl she was experiencing now. _We elves have always been vulnerable to addictions, but this is nothing I've seen before. _

Zevran glanced back once as he closed the door.

Zevran made his way across the wide expanse of the courtyard as he approached the stairs of the guildhall. Small groups of apprentices and Masters stood together in little pockets. He could see some in the shadows of the columns and archways, either resting or comparing notes. Classes would be in full session now and it wasn't unusual for fellow students to check on each other's progress. Sometimes this was done in friendship, at other times, a way for rivals to try to cripple their competition. The Masters watched from a distance, pulling strings and manipulating the most promising amongst them.

Zevran paused as he watched a small circle in the far corner of the courtyard. A group of students had formed a ring around two figures grappling in the center. Zevran grinned and changed his course as he saw a small body rise above the heads of the others before disappearing again. At his approach the students opposite him gaped and nudged their peers pointing in his direction, as they stood a little straighter. Zevran smirked with amusement as he watched Baruch press the youth into the flat stone, his knee between the boy's shoulders. Baruch was acquired late in life for a Crow, his past a bit of a mystery but his skills with medicines and talent for poisons had gained him access and acceptance in the exclusive world of the Crows. He was also a very good grappler, not the best at hand to hand with weapons, but difficult to beat in a wrestling ring. Today it seemed he was giving an impromptu lesson in immobilizing an enemy.

At the moment the swarthy man was pointing to various points on the boy's body. "You see how he is unable to move now that I've taken the wind from him? In this position you can strike him here, here, and here for a deathblow. If you thrust your blade at an angle here, he will bleed internally. This will give him time to leave the area of your strike before dying." Baruch scanned the faces of the students closest, noticing for the first time that their attention was focused elsewhere and scowling.

Baruch glanced over his shoulder spying Zevran and his expression changed. Climbing from the boy he said,"Guildmaster." Inclining his head respectfully, "Come to observe lessons today?"

Zevran regarded Baruch as he watched the youth stand painfully from the ground. The boy was holding his side, the arm hanging limply. "Not today, I'm afraid. Perhaps you would care to finish up here before joining me." Zevran gestured towards the boy.

"Of course." Baruch placed his hand on the kid's shoulder. "Good job Roberto. Keep practicing and one day _you _will be the one who is teaching." The older man grinned down as the boy blushed. "Ezio, take Roberto to the infirmary to have his injuries seen to." A blonde head stepped from the crowd before the two boys started off.

"As to the rest of you…" Baruch looked sternly at the remaining students. "A full regime of exercises. Any who fall behind will find themselves under the whip!" Several of the students blanched as Zevran and Baruch exchanged conspiratorial looks.

Baruch took his place beside Zevran as they watched the class jog swiftly towards the exit to the exercise grounds. "What do you require Master Arainai?"

Zevran started walking toward the entrance. "I have a delicate matter that requires the hand of a master." He glanced meaningfully at Baruch. "And the utmost discretion of one."

Zevran knew Baruch liked to talk, indeed the man was a wealth of secrets and information about the other Crows. Most of the other Crow Masters didn't consider Baruch a threat. They all knew Baruch was comfortable where he was and enjoyed what he did so were looser in what they were willing to say in front of him. It was also well known that Baruch only parted with trivial information when questioned about the affairs of Crow Masters in an effort to provide an even playing field and stay a neutral party to their intrigues.

"As you say, Guildmaster." Baruch's eyes darted eagerly around them. "An assassination?" Zevran grinned inwardly at the other man's desire to get out of the classroom.

"No, something that will appeal to your medicinal nature." Zevran laughed when Baruch's face fell.

"Such as?" He sounded disappointed as they headed in the direction of Zevran's office.

"What do you know about Dreamers Draught?"

Baruch's bushy brows creased as he thought. "It's a highly affective sleeping potion. Extremely addicting used often enough. Gives the sleeper a sense of clam, puts them down beyond the reach of dreams and usually makes them difficult to wake." Baruch swept his fingers across his mustache. "Bards make use of it when they are stealing secrets."

"Any knowledge on the chemistry of Wardens?" Zevran opened the door to his private workspace.

Baruch looked surprised. "Not much. Just that they tend to be resistant to most of our poisons."

Zevran's expression was serious as he gestured to Baruch to take a seat. "They go through a ritual where they ingest a poison containing various materials. It changes them, makes them harder to kill, naturally resistant to sickness and poisons," he paused while he watched Baruch's reactions, "makes them able fight like a demon too. Takes all their natural and learned abilities and amplifies them ten fold." _And now I wonder if it does the same to their weaknesses._

Baruch licked his lips. "By the Maker! If we had such a potion…."

Zevran's smiled but didn't touch his eyes as he interrupted. "No. Wardens pay a hefty price for what they are. A Crow is too expensive to give to a ritual that kills two thirds of those who try it." _And so much more, but he doesn't need all their secrets._

Zevran watched Baruch weigh the figures before he whistled under his breath. "A steep price indeed!"

Baruch settled back into the seat before asking. "Is something wrong with your guest?" Zevran could see the other man was dying to get to the heart of the matter.

Zevran eyes were cool, his demeanor only slightly menacing. "Meet me at my house in an hour. You'll need to bring supplies that will help calm the affects of drug withdrawl temporarily."

Zevran turned his attention to his desk. Baruch, understanding that the meeting was over stood to go. He frowned at the formality and Zevran's curtness. It was unusual for Zevran to be so serious. It made him think that the Guildmaster had many things on his mind.

_The Hurlock's grey-green skin and skeleton like grin was staring down at Moira as she choked on the stench of its fetid breath and body smell as well as the pressure of its forearm against her windpipe. She was flailing her legs, trying to gain some kind of purchase to throw her attacker off but only churned up more muck from the darkspawn diseased soil she was laying on. The Hurlock was holding her other arm down while it found better purchase on her body. She was reaching for the chunk of iron she could just see from the corner of her eye, a weapon dropped on this latest battlefield. Around her the noise of men fighting and dying was a roaring din. Her vision was blurring and, just as her fingers were brushing the metal, she froze. Above them stood Alistair, smiling maliciously down at them. In her mind she heard him laughing at her struggles. She fought harder as the blackness overwhelmed her. _

Moira thrashed in her troubled sleep, locked in dreams that made illusion and memory difficult to separate.

_Moira stood a few feet back from the cave entrance, her heart thundering in her chest. She knew this place. It was the one she dreaded most and the one that weighed most heavily on her conscious. Moira closed and opened her eyes slowly before looking around her. The men she'd taken with them halted a short distance behind, expressions of horror, rage and disgust covering every face, the painful result of what they were bearing witness to._

_When they had found the tunnel in Denerim, none of them had known what to expect from its depths. Not even she could have imagined what they'd find. To her right, where Zevran should be standing, was Alistair. He was looking straight ahead at the scene unfolding before them. Moira took a step forward and was confronted with the combined atrocities that this place would force her to endure time and again. _

_The bodies of dead women littered the floor. Their clothes were stripped away, bodies bearing the marks of being mauled by many hands. Their lifeless faces forever frozen into the death mask of terror. Unable to look away, Moira watched as the darkspawn held captive women down by their arms and, sometimes, legs. They chittered and screeched at each other as they tore at the women's clothing, pawing her body roughly before forcing her mouth open. Bile rose in Moira's throat as she saw the darkspawn push its face onto the female in question and spew viscous black/red liquid into the woman's mouth in an obscene imitation of a kiss. Their victim gagged and retched, thrashing with desperation and terror, even as the darkspawn pushed thick fingers between her lips and opened them again. _

_Moira looked away only to find out for herself what came next in the transformation from woman to broodmother. Their legs were forced far apart, a darkspawn between them. As she looked many were laying listless their minds having receded far away from what was happening to them. Disgust and rage competed for Moira's attention. These were the women of her youth, human and elf alike, and now all had fallen to the same fate. _

_Moira's rage won out and she called her men to action. The men let loose their war cries and poured around the still figure of Alistair and into the cave. They butchered every darkspawn inside the cavern; none escaped them and when it was over those women who hadn't been accidentally trampled in the engagement huddled together in a terrified clutch against a wall. _

_Moira approached them, the smell of their bodies hitting her like a wall. Maker! They stink! She thought as she wiped at her nose. Their hair was a matted, tangled mess, encrusted in unknown filth. Their bodies were no better, stained as they were on faces and thighs. So few looked coherent and none whole. Moira scanned the group and her heart dropped, there in the back sat an elven girl Moira knew to be thirteen years old and in her first year of womanhood. _

_Moira blanched as Lillian's eyes met hers and recognized her._

Moira awoke screaming, searching the room desperately, uncertain of where she was. She rolled violently from the bed and retched, sweat and bile mingling on the wooden floor. Alistair was foremost in her thoughts whispering, "You murdered them."


	11. Words Left Unsaid

_Bioware's universe just messing around in it._

Sorry about all the revisions. I lost my beta recently and patience isn't my best virtue.

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**Chapter 11**

Zevran crossed the threshold of his home to find Ualla distressed and waiting.

"Master Arainai! Your guest, the Warden, she is unwell. I heard noise coming from her room and went to see if she needed anything." Ualla looked truly alarmed. "She's just sitting there staring at nothing. She won't answer me."

Zevran gave anxious glance up the stairs before nodding and going up. As he entered the room his eyes inspected the area close to his Warden before scanning her. She'd been sick, several times, if the pool by the bed was any indication. Her hair was disheveled, leaving long lengths loose and trailing over her shoulders and face as she sat huddled in a blanket on the floor. Her skin was still waxy and her eyes were unfocused as she stared at nothing. Zevran knelt down next to her, gently reaching out to run his fingers up her neck, feeling the pulse fluttering under his fingers before cupping her face and bringing her eyes up to where he could see them more clearly.

"Amora…" Zevran scrutinized her. _What's behind those eyes, where is your mind? _"Amora." He said again a little stronger. Moira's eyes flickered for a moment before coming to rest on his. _Good. _

"Zevran?" Moira whispered before recoiling from his touch. "You're dead! I saw them kill you…..YOU'RE DEAD!" Her features were contorted in horror as she slid backwards on the floor, flashes of bare leg sneaking out from the blanket.

Zevran stared in shock. _Dead? _He caught her foot to keep her from backing into the fire pit. Moira kicked at him with her other foot, he was able to block it with his shoulder but she had started fighting in earnest. _Shit! She's lost her mind. _He struggled to contain her without unduly hurting her while she wildly threw punches at him. It took a few minutes to subdue her, no easy task even weakened like she was. He had finally trapped her legs in a vise like grip between his own as he managed to get her arms under his and held her in a grip that he knew was causing her pain.

"Amora! Stop this. It's me." Moira had squeezed her eyes shut. "Open your eyes and look at me." He commanded. He cursed under his breath that she'd allowed herself to come to this.

"They killed you! Darkspawn bastards! I'll kill them all...all of those Maker cursed fuckers will burn." She whispered fiercely. Under the burning pressure of her lids she could see the image of his ruined face, his skull broken open by the axe that had cleaved it, his brains showing a bloody pink. Amber eyes, once so lively and full of humor dim and lifeless staring back at her, the gaping wound in his chest oozing black. And now his walking corpse was holding her down trying to take her with it before she'd had her revenge.

"Foolish woman, it takes more than a stinking darkspawn to kill me." Zevran, for the first time, got an understanding for what her dreams were like. Gently he pressured her. "Open your eyes Amora, see me."

Much like an animal, his tone was what reached her not his words. Moira opened her eyes slowly, bracing for the worst. Preparing for the renewed shock of seeing the single most important person in her life a mutilated undead. But he wasn't, he was whole and just as she knew him. Moira let out a hard sob, the emotions of having thought she'd lost him releasing all at once until she was clutching his cuirass crying as he'd never seen her do before.

Zevran's heart was beating rapidly. He could hear the hard thumping in his own ears. Here, in his arms, the woman who had stood solid and unmoving in the face of countless enemies, who had born witness to horrible acts that had broken others, who had ordered men to their deaths and nearly joined them was crying for him. He drew a ragged breath, pulling the turmoil of emotions back into order.

He adjusted his grip on her, holding her head in the curve of his neck. "Everything is going to be alright." He carried her from the floor and brought her back to the bed.

Zevran smoothed the features of his face before laying her back and drawing back, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Moira opened her eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me."

"There is nothing to be sorry for, Amora, it is only the toxins leaving your body. It will get better." Zevran smiled reassuringly. "You will be back to your normal fearsome self soon." Moira smiled feebly.

A knock came before more was said. Ualla stuck her head in before opening the door completely, letting herself and Baruch in. "Master Baruch said you were expecting him." Ualla glanced toward where he sat on the bed.

Zevran nodded before asking. "Would you be so kind as to make some tea for us, Ualla?" Zevran had done his best to keep his housekeeper distanced from his dealings as a Crow. While he had no known rivals at the moment, time changed all things and he wasn't foolish enough to think the legend of what he'd done to obtain his position would last forever.

Baruch was looking eagerly at the figure in the bed. "That's her? The Warden Commander herself."

Zevran tisked. "Don't tell me you're struck dumb?"

Baruch huffed. "Of course not! But can you blame a man for being curious when you've spoken so highly and fondly of her?"

It was true, Zevran had. Many had asked after his adventures in Ferelden during the Blight. Happily, he'd enthralled them with charismatic stories of battle with twisted creatures in which the handsome Crow fought side by side with a brave and lovely Warden. Even though the Blight had not gone beyond the borders of Ferelden, the stories of what had happened there had spread everywhere with the refugees who had fled the destruction or who'd had nothing left when it was over.

Baruch crossed over to the bed, Zevran at his side. "Let's take a look shall we?"

Moira's eyes were closed and she looked to be on the verge of sleep. Baruch sat down and took her wrist in his fingers. "How long has she been like this?" He directed his questions to Zevran.

"Since this morning." Zevran watched as Baruch touched her temples and neck.

"Do you know how long she's been using the draught?"

"At least three years." Zevran suspected she was lying but it mattered little now, how long or how little wasn't going to make weaning her any easier.

Baruch gently lifted her eyelids with a thick thumb, peering into her pupils. "Any hallucinations? Erratic behavior?"

Zevran was thoughtful. "Yes, powerful ones." _But are they? _He thought back to what she'd said to him the prior evening, about the events on Drakon. He shrugged. "As to her behavior, I don't believe she's been out of the ordinary."

Baruch gave a harrumph as he felt the glands on Moira's neck and armpits. He looked up at Zevran. "I might know something that will help but I don't know how she's going to react to it. If what you say is true, her natural resistance or chemistry might change the effects. It would be better to change her habits slowly." Baruch's expression was thoughtful. _He knows what to do, why is this important?_

Zevran inquired. "What's your suggestion?" _It would be easier but impossible. She only has a few days before she has to return. If she doesn't make an appearance uncomfortable questions will be raised. And not just with the local lords. _Zevran thought about the report that had arrived letting him know about the group of Wardens that had entered the city. The Warden Commander of Antiva was with them.

"A poison." Baruch replied, "It will take away many of the outward symptoms." Zevran listened closely. "It will also slow her mind down. Not enough to be noticeable to anyone who doesn't know her well but I'd suggest keeping her away from trouble if it can be avoided."

"How long will the poison be in affect?" Zevran asked. He wasn't thrilled by the prospect but couldn't see what other options they had.

"Eight hours maybe? You'll have to give her an antidote, leaving the poison to run its course could kill her." He looked down at Moira. "Hard to say though."

"Any signs of the poison's progress?" Zevran rubbed his chin.

"Severe flushing of the skin on the face and neck, agitation, sensations along the spine. When they start to appear give her the antidote." He considered the resting woman. "Get her over the initial hump and she ought to be able to do the rest herself."

Baruch's eyes trailed the ragged circles of her scars running down her cheek to her neck and pulled the blanket down just far enough to see where they started between her breasts.

"Just like the stories eh?" Baruch asked earnestly.

Zevran leaned against the corner of the bed as he considered what to say. "How little attention you pay me, my friend! I have told the tale many times of how the Wardens stared down the Archdemon and brought it to heel." Zevran smiled though there was little humor in it.

Baruch chuckled. "And how they stood together wounded while an incredibly agile Crow assassin was killing darkspawn by the cartloads." He'd heard stories she'd been caught by the Archdemon in that fight, not from Zevran but others. In all his years as a Crow, Baruch had never heard of anyone with a will to live so strong they could survive that.

Moira listened to them from far off, drifting as she was in and out of sleep. She'd heard him say they were going to poison her and felt only apathy in response. _If it will help me get to Alex I don't care._ Her thoughts were swirling with the relief she would feel once she obtained the herbs again and could rest_. _Her body was feeling light and disconnected when she felt the arm behind her shoulders and Zevran's voice telling her to drink. The poison was acrid, foul tasting and went a long way in waking her up. Spluttering she drank the horrid concoction until it was gone.

Once it was down she started into fits of dry heaving as the taste lingered on her tongue and burned in the pit of her stomach. She could feel it spreading outward, traveling up her spine and into her head like a many-legged insect. It crawled uncomfortably around her skull bringing blessed clarity with it. After the watering of her eyes stopped and the cramping quit did she look at the two men watching her.

"Maker! You don't use that stuff on your targets do you?" She scraped her tongue on the roof of her mouth. "That's foul!"

Baruch laughed and Zevran looked amused. "Welcome back, my dear Warden. You truly do not need any more beauty sleep. If you become any more beautiful all the women of Antiva will be after your head."

Moira ran a damp hand over her forehead and hair. "How much time do I have?"

Grinning through his mustache Baruch answered. "About eight hours. Try to keep your business under that. Now, if you'll excuse me." He waited for Zevran to nod before exiting the room.

Zevran came to sit at her side inspecting her face. "How do you feel?"

"Better." Moira wiped at her face. She did feel better, almost like she'd just broken a fever. "Not completely normal, but better."

"That is good. Now, as much as I like seeing you naked and abed, we need to get you washed and dressed." Zevran grinned at her. "I'd take you to the bath house but I fear we'd never make the meeting with the _Podesta_."

He stood to leave, to have food and water brought up to her. Moira caught his hand, dry and hard and calloused in hers. She gave a gentle tug and he sat down with her again. Her aqua eyes shifted in the light as she looked at him. He waited for her to speak. "Do you remember after the first group of recruits came to us at Vigil's?"

"Ah yes, what a state it was in! Wet, frozen and somehow still stinking of dog. How lucky you were to have me there to bring some Antivan sensibilities to it all." He grinned mischievously.

Ignoring him she continued. "Do you recall the patrol we took them on in the Brecillian Forest? Near the ruins where the elven spring was?" She saw him frown as the memory triggered.

"The pocket of darkspawn holdouts. Yes….I remember them." His frown deepened as he recalled that trip. "They were waiting in ambush for us, you couldn't pinpoint where they were because you said there was a large group underground."

Moira's eyes were intense. "We lost nearly all of them. Six brand new Wardens gone in minutes." Her face took on a bitter twist as she paused.

"We've seen many men die Zev." Her face was hard. "I've seen many more since then. All their lives were my responsibility and I valued them." She flickered her eyes over his face. "Only one has made me know fear if it were lost."

He cupped her face and leaned his forehead against hers, bringing her hand to his face. Her fingers splayed across his cheek, the feel of his ear between her fingers. As they stayed like that, words that could be said didn't have to be.


	12. Hard and Soft

_It's Bioware's ballpark, just playing stickball._

_Just as an FYI...Chapters 1, 2, 3, 10 & 11 have all seen revisions. Details were added or changed though the storyline stayed the same. _

_I'd like to thank Rhiononon for all the inspiration she's provided through email on this chapter and sections of the next. Also for helping me see Antiva a little clearer. If you're not familiar with her writings you should check out my comments and follow her link to her page. I'd like to point out A Guilded Cage specifically. Go on...what are you waiting for? _

_My apologies for this chapter, not a lot going on in it but it is filler to get us to the next leg in the journey. _

_And thanks for everyone who stops in and reads and reviews. I know that this isn't a general appeal piece so the support is appreciated._

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**Chapter 12**

Moira stood in front of the armor rack staring hard at it while a frown rested on her features. The afternoon was wearing on and she was quietly aware of how much time was left to her before the poison either wore away enough to reveal what it was hiding or stopped her heart. After three bowls of a thick and spicy lamb stew Moira had bathed and now was faced with a situation unfamiliar to her.

Over their lunch, Zevran had spoken to her about how the evening was likely to unfold and how it was different to what she was accustomed to. In Ferelden, a person in a military organization could wear their armor anywhere and to any function considered important, whether formal or not, and not seem out of place. It was, in part, due to Ferelden custom. It was a custom, that combined with many others, made Ferelden appear backwards and barbaric to surrounding nations. Zevran had explained that, in Antiva, it was unheard of to wear armor to social functions.

"Amora, you must make these men look on you as more than a Warden and barbarian woman if you wish to succeed in convincing them to part with the coin and support you desire." Zevran had told her. "These men do not know you, they only know of your reputation. Make them see that you can be charming as well as beautiful. Let them marvel at how feminine you are while still being a skilled warrior. Woo them and they will eagerly fall at your feet scrabbling to meet your demands." He had smiled broadly at her look of doubt.

"Don't you think I'd fit the part of Warden Commander better in my armor? Live up to the vision of hero." She'd said sarcastically.

"Ah, but this celebration the Podesta has planned isn't about parading you around." He held up a hand in response to Moira's skeptical look. "Not entirely. Tonight he stands to gain prestige amongst his peers by hosting you and showing off his wealth in bringing this together so quickly. Perhaps he also wishes to gain favor with the Wardens here, this I do not know." Zevran had taken a few more bites of food before going on.

"The others of the nobles will come for there own reasons as will many merchant princes." He waved this off as something she would already know, and he was right.

"If we'd had more time I might have had some intelligence that would help ease your way. I will try to stay close tonight to lend aid where I can." He shrugged. "As Guild master, however, I have my own role to play."

"Do you think the one who tried to assassinate you will be there?" Moira asked feeling a bit guilty that her problems were interfering with his ability to find out whom he was playing against.

Zevran looked cool and unconcerned as he answered. "But, of course." His grin was wide and bright as the gleam that came into his eyes. "That is part of what will make this evening fun, no?" He'd eyed her then. "Along with watching you remember that a rogue has many weapons at their disposal."

Moira thought on that momentarily, looking up as he started speaking and cringing at the words. "I know just the thing for you to wear."

When they had finished lunch Ualla had let in an adolescent boy carrying a trunk on his shoulder. Zevran had smirked irritatingly as the housekeeper led the boy upstairs to deposit his treasure in her room. So here she stood looking at the vestments that had become so much a part of who she was and feeling self-conscious at the prospect of wearing anything else.

Moira went to the trunk sitting on her bed and opened it. She let out an appreciative whistle when she saw what was inside. A stack of fine fabrics sat folded on one half while the other held an ornately carved and inlaid box. Moira ran her fingers over the inlay before removing the box and setting it to one side. She lifted out the clothes, staring, mildly confused by their style. They were unlike anything she'd ever encountered before and she wasn't really sure how she was supposed to put them on with their slits and contours giving her pause as to which way was up.

Gold, red, white, and cream spread out across her bed, light, airy, silk and gauze. A long twisted gold cord tossed in the middle of it all. Moira dug out a pair of hard soled sandals, their leather decorated in amber and red beads. She felt her eyebrows crawl up her forehead at the length of the leather straps, not sure of how she needed to tie these. In the very bottom lay short leather belts with knife sheaths attached to them. Moira smiled to herself, these she knew what to do with.

Moira turned to the smaller box and gasped as she opened it. Inside, stacked haphazardly was more wealth than she's seen in one place before. And that was saying something because she'd found her share of treasure in her adventures. Amulets, armbands, bracelets, broaches, pins, necklaces all glinted in the light. Gold, silver, exotic metals, some with precious stones, others plain just thrown together in a jumble of different designs, she wondered who had made them as she looked them over.

A light knocking on her door was preceded by Zevran opening it and leaning against the doorframe. He looked fresh from his own bath his hair newly braided along the sides, drawn back to accent the slant and point of his ear. He stood there, bare chest and feet with a pair of well fitting burgundy trousers on. The leather ties of which, criss-crossed his crotch and hung down from his waist, beads decorating their ends.

"You're not getting ready?" His face was an image of amusement at the sight of her standing there, wrapped in a sheet with her hands on her hips. She was scowling at the clothing that was, now, disarrayed in front of her.

"I would if I could figure out how to put the ruddy things on!" Glaring at the objects of her ire she waved a hand at them. "It's impossible! Clearly Antivan women have nothing better to do than wallow around in their clothes looking for the head hole."

Zevran earned an annoyed snort when he started laughing at her. "If this is your idea of a joke Arainai, I am not amused."

"Tisk, tisk, Amora. I'd never look to frustrate you while trying to put clothes on, taking them off…." He gave her a familiar smirk, "that's another matter entirely."

Looking at him darkly she said. "Well, there won't be any of _that_ if I can't manage to get dressed!"

Zevran inclined his head. "Really?" His tone indicated that he doubted it very much.

Arching one of his blonde eyebrows he said. "Then you will be glad to know I've brought reinforcements." He stepped into the room and was followed by a silent, severe looking woman.

"Marian will assist you with your preparations. She's very good at disguise." Zevran winked at her.

"She's a Crow?" Moira asked glancing between the two.

"What else would she be, Amora?" Zevran asked lightly.

Marian nodded in affirmative before going to the bed and looking Moira over. She shook out the red and cream dresses. "These ones?" She asked Zevran.

Moira had a moment of hostility that she wasn't the one being asked. Zevran gave Moira the same once over Marian had before replying. "I think so, it will bring out the red in her hair.

"Marian will help, just listen to what she says and you'll be ready in no time." Moira went to open her mouth before he went on. "And, Amora, hurry up…" the words trailed behind him as he exited the room.

Moira turned her attention on the waiting Crow. "Well, let's get on with it then."

In what seemed like no time at all, Marian had wrestled Moira into the dress combo and started on her hair. It hadn't been easy and once or twice Moira had gone to argue with the woman before being silenced by Marian's look of "_you want to do this yourself?_" Like when Marian had gone to wrap her breasts in a band that wasn't meant to flatten them but hoist them higher in the air. Moira tried looking down while the Crow busied herself with her hair at the swell of her chest and the wrinkled round bite scar pinched between her breasts. _If I look like I belong at Roihden's I'll have to kill someone. _Moira simmered as Marian rolled and stacked her hair on her head.

Marian was finishing when Zevran entered again. This time completely dressed. He'd donned a dark blue silk shirt, opened partially down the chest, the cuffs clad in tooled leather that went up his forearm. The leather vest he wore drew the eye to his revealed flesh with the gold threaded design along its edge. The calf-high boots finished the look and Moira had to admit he cut quite the figure.

"Excellent!" Zevran stated. "Though that expression does nothing for you, Amora." Zevran teased. Judging by how her face pulled even further into a scowl, she wasn't amused.

Marian had Moira's face in her hand and tipped up to kohl her eyes. Moira suddenly had thoughts of the woman blinding her with the pointed wooden stick she was using. She resisted the urge to reach for the knife resting on the table next to them. The thought and urge passed when Marian set the eye ink back in its place.

"No." Moira said firmly when Marian reached for the face power.

"It will help to conceal the scars on your face and chest." Marian said matter-of-factly.

Zevran was watching Moira closely as she said it again. "No." It was an order. Marian looked uncertainly to Zevran. Moira's voice cut through them both. "Don't look to him for permission. I live in this skin and it belongs only to me. You will do what I say in regards to it." Moira's voice was level, but there was no mistaking, she meant it.

"Thank you Marian, you've done a superb job." Zevran smiled at the Crow, setting her a bit at ease. "The Warden Commander looks lovely. I think we can finish up on our own."

Marian replied, "As you wish Master Arainai." She stole a glance between them as she bowed slightly before slipping out.

A long silence stretched out as Zevran rummaged through the jewelry and Moira studied her reflection in the tall looking glass. He held a few objects in his hand when he came to stand with her.

"Now all you need is a few finishing touches." Zevran appraised her reflection. The cream and red worked well to set each other off and contrasted nicely against Moira's hair and skin. The dress needed the gold cord to accent her shape but even loose it made her look soft. If it weren't for the scars on her face, chest and arms and the look in her eyes her nature would go unnoticed.

He showed her what he held in his hand. The gold was worked into the shape of a dragon, serpentine and coiled to fit around the upper arm. Its wings were small, stylized to indicate the possibility of flight without dominating the design. He worked it over her wrist, pulling the loose cuff sleeve away to slide it up her slender, muscular arm.

Moira watched it slide on, the contact along the fine hair of her arms giving her a mild case of the goosebumps. She watched as he settled it onto her bicep and adjusted it until its red gem of an eye stared back at her from the mirror.

"Zev, I'm not sure I should wear these." Moira was frowning.

"No?" He paused, watching her. "Who better to wear the dragon, hmmm?"

She ran a hand absently across the marks on her neck and down her chest. "I guess it's just being foolish?"

He'd slipped the other armband on before resting a matching torque around her neck. "No, Amora, not foolishness. Respect." He stroked the dragon lying against her skin. "Respect for an ancient and powerful spirit is never foolish." He paused, lightly touching the scar between the head and curved tail. "Neither is honoring it."

Zevran took the cord from the chair and placed it under her breasts, tightening the fabric before crossing it behind her back and bringing it around the front to make a large X, drawing it around her hips and tying it off. Zevran looked satisfied as he took in the finished product.

Moira studied herself in the mirror and was surprised. She looked so like herself yet so unlike. The eyeliner made her eyes stand out and the twirls of hair hanging down from the twisted, fancy bun on her head accented the angles of her face and the way her ears curved gently to a point. Marian had taken a gold chain and pinned it in her hair, the tip of her ears just brushing it. Gold appeared and disappeared as she moved, the slit in the cream sleeve hanging open when she raised her arms. Moira touched the billowy fabric, sliding it against itself. As she looked at her reflection she was reminded of the woman of the fountain statue.

Running a final glance over her reflection she turned to Zevran. "Let's go." He smiled and offered her arm.

The weight of the knives strapped to her thighs reassured her that she wasn't as vulnerable as she felt when they left Zevran's house. When three of his Crows joined them as they walked she felt even better.


End file.
